


Utopia - A Grindelwaldian Adventure

by Brandschlag



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aromantic Gellert Grindelwald, Blood Magic, Character Death, Dark Magic, Durmstrang, Fantasy, Fights, Folklore, Gen, Hints of Homosexuality, M/M, Magic, Magical Europe, Magical German Realm, Magical South Africa, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Necromancy, No Smut, Original Character(s), Other, POV Third Person, Prequel, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Ritual Magic, Rituals, Self-Mutilation, Self-Sacrifice, Slice of Life, Utilitarianism, Utopia, hints of romance, sacrificial magic, traces of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2019-10-29 15:55:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17810984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brandschlag/pseuds/Brandschlag
Summary: 1899 was not only the year of Grindelwald's expulsion from Durmstrang but also the year he began his quest to create Utopia.The milk moon stood high in the night of the Esbat when Gellert set his first foot on the path towards this Utopia, yet as is commonly known, the first step is always the hardest.Let us follow him and his companions until history has been written.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings.
> 
> \- Un-Beta-ed, as of yet  
> \- This story is going to be AU  
> \- Liked it/Hated it? Do leave me some feedback please!

1899, somewhere atop the  _Blocksberg_ , deep in one of the forests, a clearing with the hollowed out trunk of the Donar's Oak in its middle was brightly illuminated by the light of the milk moon.

There, kneeling before the trunk was a half-clad young man, his face hidden away by the shadows cast from the crown of horn he wore atop his head. His blond hair was caked with ash, and runlets of dried blood marked old scars and new cuts alike, where he had opened a pathway to guide his bloody tears down his cheeks.

Pale skin was painted with ash and coal in patterns that to the eye of the beholder, were clearly heavily laden with some peculiar meaning. Prominent above all, were the symbols of oak, seed and thunder, ansuz, inguz and thurisaz painted to be a bindrune in the black of coal to the white of ash on his chest, just above his heart.

Thirteen wooden bowls were placed before the young man, and in each of them a sacrifice had been prepared in advance.

From some of them wafts of burning euodia, saccinit, fraxinella, olibanum, and amomum rose into the air, whereas in others blood was bubbling with unearthly ferocity, water was swelling to the rim only to recede back to a single drop, and earth too was there put in a bowl, moving as if alive. Some of them were empty, soon to be filled.

Behind him bronze sickle, rope and wand lay readied for his ritual.

Then, directed by some invisible command, a unintelligible chant flew from his lips in half a whisper with every breath he took, and soon a droning monotone of mantra filled the air with a constant underline of melody to it.

Time meant little to the young man as afar whence the thunder roared its mystic sound to the chant of invocation breathing life into the idol resting afoot the hollowed remains of Donar's Oak.

The thunder's rumbling recurred in the distance, wind picked up and all the eidola of the night creeped closer to the shine of unearthly light radiating from the youth's body.

Tremors of magic were slowly but with a steady rhythm, in time with the chant, enticing movement from the heretofore ramrod body until trance began to lay a pleasurable haze over the thoughts of doubts.

The wafts of smoke, a terribly burning yet addicting mixture of smells danced around, drifting around the young man, hurting in his eyes until blood began to trickle from his nose, slowly running down his face until all of his chin was covered with a thin smear of red.

Void of any conscious control over his actions, the young man's body took this as the cue, the movement guided by the ingrained knowledge of this ritual, one hand dipping into the first bowl of his own blood.

* * *

Unbeknownst to the boy his flight from school and consequently his plans had not went fully unnoticed, despite all the precautions he had taken to prevent anyone from interfering with his plans.

Indeed, earlier in the night as the charms protecting the school and its land from the eyes of anyone not attending reported a breach, Abraham Kiebert, Charms Warden of the Durmstrang Institute had immediately made the decision to leg it.

He had rushed to the office of the Headmaster, on the way picking up a few more informations that would decidedly proof useful when reporting to his boss.

And that was how he was stood in the office, face to face with the two centuries old man with his grey beard stained by ink and wax, leather girdle corseted tightly around the hip, and a thick fur robe thrown over the shoulders.

Yet, despite the appearance of an old and feeble hermit, the Headmaster Áskell Rasmussen was anything but to be taken lightly. He had not maintained Headmastership for nearly a century for nothing.

Kiebert stood shakily, his chest heaving up and down quickly.

"Are you sure Kiebert?" Asked the rough voice of the Headmaster, the calm in it belying his rage.

"He's never shown his face to his duties, Sir."

"I've asked if you were sure!"

Kiebert swallowed heavily. Sweat and tears of fear marked the truth of his words, "Yes! Yes! I told you before, Sir! He's too far gone! Mad and bereft of morals, that boy!" He spat the last word. "He's gone off after being seen reading something in his grandfather's ritual books!"

The Headmaster's head snapped to face Kiebert. "Not just truant but an apostate?!"

He muttered something inaudible before he gesturing for the other man to answer.

Kiebert nodded sharply. "The charms have reported him leaving through a breach at the outer forest, Sir."

Áskell Rasmussen's mood soured once more, his fist going down on the table before him. "He's responsible?"

"I'm afraid so, Sir."

A breach in the charms to allow apparition, done by a student no less? "Impertinent bastard! Go, find him! Bring him back, any means, you hear?!"

Kiebert hesitated to leave. Again he swallowed audibly and hard, sweat dripping down into his robes. "Any means, Sir? His grandfather, Sir… He might find objection with that."

Rasmussen growled with barely restrained anger. As he made to grab his wand, he spat, "Leave already you fool! The Magistrate is to join you! Bring him back at once! I'll manage the bastard's family!"

Not daring to stay any longer, Kiebert bowed quickly and ran out of office, back down the untold amount of stairs to the brooms. He was in dire need to hurry. Walking outside to the edge of the forest from where he could apparate would take far too long to do as he was ordered.

Once Kiebert was gone, the Headmaster spat into the fire of the hearth.

Never in all his years as the Headmaster of Durmstrang had he seen such a perverse interest in the forbidden arts of the occult and the dark. This was the last chance he would offer the boy. He'd take it, or he'd die.

With that decision made, he bade one of the school's  _Fenggs_  to procure an owl while he made to dash down some words of choice for the bastard's grandfather.

Courtesy as it was, the old hound would come down hard on his school if he wasn't at least informed about what was going to happen.

And truth be told, there simply was no good way to tell Johannes Grindelwald that his only living descendant was possibly going to die tonight.

* * *

Soon it would be time for the sacrifice.

This knowledge swam in the back of his head and yet Gellert shoved it away. It was necessary, he was sure of it. This would mark his entrance into the world of tomorrow. A new age for all children of magical blood. A Utopia born from his own blood. An ambition worth bleeding for, a future worth sacrificing for.

As it were, Gellert wasn't too keen on the pain ahead of him. He would manage, most assuredly, as he had done before, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy it. He didn't need to enjoy cutting into his own flesh, carving into it with deliberately slow motions to infuse not only his action but also the wound with a certain meaning and magic that was meant to transition his transcendental self into his body.

The trance still kept him sedated, kept the mix of fear and anticipation of what he was about to do far away from his mind, kept him ensnared with the feeling of pleasurable vastness, as if he was adrift in all the world's magic.

With quick and well practiced movements he finished painting his chest and arms in the patterns of selected bindrunes, the blood on his chest, around the rune-cross having dried to a thick film of crust already.

A few more moments, then it would be time. The thunderstorm was closing in on the  _Blocksberg_. And he would need to await the right moment to begin. Timing was of importance with this sort of magic, and, truth be told, he wasn't prepared for the aftermath of failure.

Gellert could feel the presences of these spirits of the  _Blocksberg_  around him. It was an odd feeling, for he could not see them, yet he knew, with certainty that they were there. It felt as if he could see them just from the corner of his eye, like a shadow that would be gone if he were to turn his head.

These spirits, eidola of the benign sort, much like any other being living yonder the plane on which humans existed, could feel the magic he was invoking with his chant, with this ritual.

He just hoped they wouldn't interfere with what he was about to do. The freely given blood of the Karkonosz should help along their understanding that he had the blessing of the highest forest and mountain spirit.

* * *

Kiebert was annoyed, frustrated, angry and not just a little alarmed.

As the Charms Warden of Durmstrang he had a firm knowledge of the magicks involved with charms, even if he never had managed to attain a professorial chair, and as such it had been relatively easy to follow the destination the (hopefully soon to be ex)student Gellert Grindelwald must have had in mind when he apparated from behind the forest at Durmstrang.

What had him annoyed was that he had to repeat the sniffing of apparition traces a few more times, as the student in question had attempted to hide his tracks by apparating all over the lands.

What had him frustrated was that he could not pinpoint the final destination without following every single apparition in a proper routine of appearing, dispelling his own magicks, then deliberately and carefully searching for a trace of familiar magicks.

What had him angry was that he could already guess the final destination, - which in turn lead to why he was alarmed: it was the  _Blocksberg_ , the most magical and therefore most important mountain of all the witch-mountains in the German Realm.

Oh, the Headmaster would have more than just a few words with the Grindelwald, and so would the Prince, or rather his torture, for that matter, that Kiebert was sure of.

With all the apparition over the lands it was a miracle that the troops of the Prince of the Magical German Realm hadn't already picked up the trail of the magicks, storming after them with their wands at the ready!

Tergiversators, people who had caused a break of the Statute of Secrecy were automatically sentenced to death by exsanguination, that was common knowledge to anyone of magical heritage in these lands.

So, admittedly, it was quite understandable that Kiebert was quite alarmed and no little wary, which he would admit without shame if his companion had bothered to ask.

Instead, for the umptieth time he was asked, "How's it coming along, Abraham?"

Resigned to being the mule on this exploration, Kiebert turned around.

"There's no mistaking it. It's the  _Blocksberg_ ," he replied with a shiver running down his back. "It will take hours to find him with all the spirits flogging to the mountain!"

Durmstrang's Magistrate, a young Swiss man scowled at that revelation, his eyes flicking up to where a carpet of clouds was hiding away the light of the milk moon. "Full moon night, right. Yes, he's done it now, thrice-be-damned Grindelwalds! Sure hope old Rasmussen knows what he's doing."

Kiebert agreed quietly as he looked around. If he had anything to say on the matter he would have erased the name Grindelwald from the register and forgotten about the boy altogether.

Instead he now had to keep an eye open for the wizards of the French Third Republic  _and_  the troops of the Prince!

They were far too close to the Kandel, somewhere at the southern border of the Grand Duchy of Baden, having apparated almost ten times until they arrived here.

"Let's get going," he said with a tired sigh, glancing over to his colleague. He'd rather be gone before anyone arrived to check for who exactly had trespassed these lands.

* * *

Aside of the thunder rumbling away it was quiet in the clearing. Far too quiet to be natural.

Yet this quietness was it, that allowed Gellert to keep focused, of course, but it also made the heavy beating of his heart all that much more obvious to himself.

He could hear it, feel it, and its steady loud and strong pounding was making him even more anxious of what he was about to do.

The crown of horn sat heavy atop his head, the wand in his hand felt even more heavy, and the bronze sickle? The sickle he barely could lift.

Then, with steely determination he ignored all these feelings, ignored reason and the primal want to prevent pain, prevent suffering, and he took a deep, fortifying breath.

The wand rose first shakily and then as he gained confidence, more steadily, and with fervour he incantated, "One eye for the All-Seer - Haptasnytrir!"

He moved the wand over his left eye, fixing it in its place, and then, before the anticipation of the pain could drive him stiff with fear, he plunged the bronze sickle into his eye socket.

The moment the cold metal pierced the ocular globe Gellert's conscious perception, all his world, his body and mind were aflame with piercing, tearing pain.

The first seconds felt like a minute, and only by chance did Gellert's body remember how to breath, yet when he shakily gasped air into his lungs, he knew there was no stopping now, for every movement, every breath he took, every shiver, every tremor of pain running through his body jostled the sickle a bit deeper into the bleeding socket.

Yet he didn't cry the blood-freezing cry he felt his body all too ready to unleash. No, Gellert kept this feeling of sacrifice open, welcomed it with the pain even, for it was what he was willing to give.

Gellert's voice cracked when he incantated the next sentence of the sacrificial spell, but he carried on nevertheless. It was far too late to stop.

He waved his wand towards the pierced eyeball, and then, clenching his jaw shut, ripped the sickle plus eye out of its socket.

He moaned at the feeling of emptiness; he felt ill knowing that he had just ripped out a part of himself, and still he drove onward. He ignored the trickle of fluids running down the deep-cut pathways on his cheeks, and he ignored the trembling of his body, the feeling of cold that pulsated around and through his guts.

He dropped the eye into one of the empty bowls and invocated, "This sacrifice for the Spell-Speaker - Glapsviðr."

As he finished speaking the eye went up in pale blue flames.

With rapt fascination Gellert observed it being incinerated; it seemed his sacrifice was being welcomed!

Quickly he set about mixing the remains with all the other ingredients. 

He was almost done. He felt elevated, gripped by some indescribable feeling of peace within himself. He knew, he could do it, now that he had proof that his idea had merit. Just one more little step and all would be well.

He felt the spirits cheer him on, he felt them dancing with joy at his actions.

With that knowledge firmly in mind, Gellert picked the rope from behind him and levitated it over the trunk of the Donar's oak.

He was almost done.

* * *

_The_ Johannes Grindelwald, father of the bloodline of Grindelwald clenched his fist around the parchment some owl had delivered a few seconds ago; did they truly think he'd sit back and let someone spill the blood of his family? Only a Grindelwald was allowed to bleed a Grindelwald!

The parchment crumpled under the force of his will and broke into brittle pieces until only dust remained.

He threw the remains into the fire of his stove and turned around.

"Hudl!" He roared into the air. "Hudl- _Fengg_! Bring me staff and stick! Now!"

A second later a small halfling with more beard than body and a red felt hat appeared before the ancient man, with staff and stick floating before its short body.

Johannes Grindelwald cast his mind into a forced calmness as he stowed away the stick and gripped the staff to hurry down the hallway.

The  _Fengg_  hurried behind him, small bursts of ashen light procuring furlined manteau and thick leather boots from nothingness. With magic they quickly were spelled onto the still walking Herr Johannes.

Herr Johannes knew he'd have to hurry, not only to make it in time to get there and to stop whatever foolishness Gellert was part of, but also because knowing his own limits, he could not stay away from what kept him alive for all that long at a time. He hadn't survived seven hundred years only to waste away by accident!

But… just in case, he thought and stopped in his tracks. "Hudl! If for whatever reason I do not return, then you are free to go!"

The halfling's eyes widened upon hearing that, but it agreed quickly nonetheless.

Herr Johannes didn't turn around to see his servant's reaction, instead having said his piece, he grunted as he started moving again. "And burn the place to the ground. Take the stones home  _if_  you go!" No need to have the bastards sniff around for his secrets!

As he reached the door, he took a calming breath. He had to go quite the distance.

And then, with barely a whisper Herr Johannes disappeared in a swirl of colours.

* * *

At the same time Herr Johannes left his house, Kiebert cast a warming charm onto himself while watching his colleague Eberstadt gander the lands from atop the  _Teufelskanzel_ , some near-ancient occult idol built of rocks atop the  _Blocksberg_.

It was well past midnight and the air had some unnatural chill to it, and truth be told, Abraham Kiebert would rather not be anywhere close to the  _Blocksberg_  around the time of the Esbat!

And where was he? Atop the very mountain!

In the end his fear of what the old Rasmussen would do to him if he were to skip his duty had won out. He was a wizard, after all. He shouldn't be afraid of a mountain, even if said mountain was known to  _anyone_  in the Realm for its occult qualities, even if said mountain was known to harbour the most vile spirits and creatures especially at the time of the Esbat!

He twitched at some odd sound coming from farther down the hill before him, but the knowledge that he had his wand in hands kept him feeling somewhat safe. And instead of turning to hex whatever had made the sound, he asked, "Can you make out anything Knud?"

Knud Eberstadt, proud Swiss and temporary Magistrate at Durmstrang shook his head mutely. He swung his wand at the somewhat illuminated hill before him, sending two more orbs of light to brighten the woods.

After a few more seconds of staring after the lights moving over the treeline, he turned around and grumbled a few words of choice in his native dialect.

"There's nothing!  _If_  Grindelwald is here, then he's not lit any fires. Can't imagine any way to find him without flying the brooms over the trees and searching clearing after clearing."

Kiebert denied the not so subtle suggestion once more. "I've told you! There's a troop of the Prince stationed at Wernigerode! They would see us - I don't have to tell you what's gonna happen  _if_ -," he was interrupted by Eberstadt's grunt.

"I know, I know. Don't piss yourself Abraham."

"Do stuff it then, would you?"

Eberstadt huffed and turned back to stare down the hill. "No tracking charms up your sleeves?" He asked it mockingly and knew Kiebert wouldn't take it personally.

"There's no such thing! Anything remotely close to what you have in mind is strictly in the field of divination, and I am pants at that!"

"Schiesdreck!"

Kiebert snorted mirthlessly. "That sums it up quite well."

* * *

Gellert bit back his need to scream at the feeling of acid burning down his throat as he attempted to swallow around the physical want to throw up.

The forcibly taken - tricked and stolen, his mind supplied - tear of the  _Ekke Nekkepenn_  burnt in his throat and as soon as it reached his stomach, that too felt aflame with the heat of a hundred fires.

He should have known that ingesting fluids from an aquatic creature famed for its pyrokinesic magic would have some such strange effects, and yet here he was, writhing in place so as not to make a sound, lest he disturb the proper process of this ritual.

But he remembered his grandfather's words. He remembered the lessons as his lifeline, the one reason why he burdened himself to wade through this torment: "Whoever is hard with himself earns the right to be hard with others as well and avenges himself for the pain whose manifestations he was not allowed to show and had to repress!"

And indeed there was a purpose to him drinking these tears. The qualities of these tears, - or rather the effect they had on those people who were brazen enough to ingest them, could be described as enhancing in the widest meaning of the word.

Quite so, Gellert would not feel pain or heat from any fire until the tears had been fully digested, and yet any water he would come into contact with would make it so that he felt as if he was burned at the stake. A double-edged sword, most assuredly, and yet it was strictly necessary as he had no plans to burn himself alive in the next part of the ritual.

No magic was to interfere with the next part.

Gellert forced himself to stand up-right, rope around his neck, sickle and bowl of blood in hands and a surge of determination hardening his face.

With his right hand he held the big bowls above his head. He took a quick breath, as if to assure him that this was necessary, and then he turned it upside down, spilling the bubbling (freely given) blood of the Karkonosz onto himself and everything below him.

In a heartbeat everything it came into contact with went up in flames; bowls, earth, the wood of the Oak, the rope, and Gellert's body too.

"One life for the Hanged God - Hangatýr!" Gellert shouted it aloud through the sound of flames licking at his ears, and with a resolved grunt he cut the rope of the counterweight.

With a heavy jolt the rope around his neck dragged him up high into the air.

His eyes widened upon suddenly realising the feeling of pressure around his throat, the inability to breath, the pressure in his head that began to make him feel dazed.

Immediately regret welled up within him. He didn't want to die!

But then, slowly, with every long moment he hung there, strung up by his neck like a puppet, he forced himself to cease the struggle. He forced himself to cease this natural reaction to the impending end of his existence. He would have to trust the magic of the ritual. Either it would work or he would die, it was quite simple really.

The crown of horn slipped from his head and Gellert closed his bulging eye.

Death wasn't that bad.

* * *

"There!" Eberstadt's voice exclaimed triumphantly.

Thunder cracked above their heads and a second later hundreds of arms of lightning broke through the clear sky.

Kiebert's head whipped around, his eyes going wide upon spotting the flaring light. "Is that fire?"

"You bet your wimpy ass it is! Let's go! Before we lose him! The boy'll wish he'd never left his bed tonight!"

Before Kiebert could react Eberstadt disapparated in a veily cloud of vapour down the hill towards where the fire was breathing away its light.

"Fuck!" Abraham Kiebert spat out. He gripped his wand tight and followed after his hotheaded colleague.

It took a few seconds but then he had caught up with Knud Eberstadt, just in time to break through the cover of the treetops.

They touched down in the midst of a rather small and densely forested clearing, and now that Kiebert was standing in it, he thought it a wonder that they had managed to spot it from atop the  _Teufelskanzel_.

"Where is he," Eberstadt demanded, his eyes darting over the moonlit lawn. "There's the fire, but-" Kiebert's gasp interrupted him.

Eberstadt turned his head to glance at the Charms Warden only to see him sprinting towards the hollow trunk that was ablaze, the red and yellow light of the fire throwing haunting shadows at the gentle hill.

His eyes followed the direction Kiebert was dashing in, then they widened with shock.

"Is that? Fuck!"

Knud Eberstadt was rooted with shock. He'd seen some injuries throughout his young life, he'd seen some fighting. But never had he seen something like this!

Abraham Kiebert, desperation driving him, already had his wand aloft to summon water forth from the very air, yet when it splashed harmlessly against the scorched earth and the fire raving around the trunk, he cursed frustratedly.

"Help me!" He yelled at Eberstadt from afar, his wand in motion to transfigure earth to sand to put out the fire around the trunk. "Help me! Snap out of it Knud!"

They'd have to hurry lest the Prince's troops were to spot the fire too, before they could get Grindelwald and leave.

* * *

Johannes Grindelwald arrived at the  _Teufelskanzel_  just in time to see the back of a wizard disapparate down the hill.

He didn't stop him, even if he could for his mind was cast afar and wide and he knew already where his descendant was. He could smell it in the air, feel it on his skin, sense it with his mind, - the magic Gellert had been invoking, the sacrifices he had made.

A growl ripped from his mouth. For he too could sense that death was drawing close. Too close!

He rammed his staff to the ground and hurled himself into the direction he sensed Gellert to be in. It came as no surprise to him that this too was the direction the wizard had disapparated to, old Áskell Rasmussen had made it clear that he would send his own people after Gellert after all.

It took a few moments but then Herr Johannes arrived at the scene, one wizard thrown into shock, rooted by his own fear firmly in place whereas another was hurriedly trying to put out a veritable tempest of flames dancing around the trunk of a very familiar piece of tree.

"Leave it," he growled. "You cannot extinguish these flames!"

His shouting seemed to snap out the young wizard before him, his arm trembling with panick and yet the wand in his hand was grasped tight.

For a short moment it looked as if he was going to attack Herr Johannes, but then he thought better.

"Don't piss yourself, boy!" The old man ordered harshly and strode past the Magistrate.

A few quick strides later Herr Johannes stood next to Kiebert, and with barely a glance he continued to bark his orders, "You, wizard! Cut the rope and get my boy down!"

"But the fire-," Kiebert protested distractedly only to receive a growl in reply.

Before he could protest any further Herr Johannes stomped his staff onto the earth and with a hollow sound magic echoed back.

Immediately all the fire's wild flames receded into the ground just as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the very air, leaving behind unscorched Oak, blackened earth and the limp body of Gellert Grindelwald hanging lifelessly.

"Get my boy down, I said!"

Herr Johannes sucked in a laboured breath. These little tricks of magic already had him feel drained and tired. He was truly getting too old for this shit. He should have never meddled with … better leave these thoughts for another time, he thought.

Kiebert, surprise mixing with fear at seeing the almost casual display of power without the use of a wand, there and then realised just who he stood next to.

Because of that knowledge, he was not daring to delay any further: he jabbed his wand at the rope above Grindelwald's head and sent a cutting spell at it. As soon as it gave way he swished and flicked and set to levitate the falling body gently down to earth.

Meanwhile Knud Eberstadt had managed to catch up. He stood next to Kiebert, the grip around his wand whitening his knuckles. His heart hammered loudly in his chest, the pulse driving a gushing sound through his ears as he saw the dead body before him.

He had never seen a dead body before. He had never wanted to see someone so young dead. And now he didn't know if he ever could forget this picture again.

Kiebert, as soon as Gellert's body had been lowered down kneeled down and set to cast about any medical charms he knew of. Yet there was no hope; all these terrible thoughts, these ideas of anticipation that his mind had sent at his third eye, these moving pictures of finding just death where life should have been, unveiled themselves to be the truth.

"He's dead," he declared with some odd feeling of finality he never had known before and still hoped to be just some crude figment of imagination. "He's dead," he repeated hollowly.

A retching sound filled the night's silence just as a stroke of lightning flashed brightness into the clearing.

The eidola of the night danced in circles around the lifeless body just as the thunder broke.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Still no beta  
> \- Still no romance.  
> \- Enjoyed it? Hated it? Leave me some feedback!

Herr Johannes wanted to shake his head at these events.

He knew of course what Gellert had been doing here, he had written these books on rituals and sacrificial magic after all, and yet he could not fathom just how desperate the boy had been for his dream to come true. But… who had the boy been invoking with his ritual?

"No, he's not. A Grindelwald doesn't die if he isn't ready to die." Herr Johannes said it as if it was a law of nature, and without care for any injuries he might cause, he jammed down his staff onto the chest of his only kin. "Your life ain't yours to sacrifice, Gellert! Get up you lazy fool!"

He glared at the scorched earth and the small details. And then he spotted the gleaming idol sitting in the trunk of the unburnt Donar's Oak.

Ah, yes, he thought, there it is. Gellert, in his eagerness had invoked Herr Asagrim. And that too would explain why the ritual hadn't run its course. The foolish boy had forgotten to keep a physical connection to the stone idol while hanging himself.

In consequence all the ritual's magic, the worth of the sacrifices now was charged to this small figure. No wonder it was emanating such a fierce… aura. It almost felt like a full-blooming human soul!

"What are you doing," Eberstadt demanded as he whipped his wand towards the old man who was seemingly violating the corpse. "Get your staff off the body!"

"Don't! Knud!" Kiebert warned, but he was ignored. Why Knud didn't recognise the old man for who he was, he didn't understand but he instinctively knew that this night would ultimately get worse if he were to attack him.

The tip of Eberstadt's wand lit up with the red light of a spell, signalling that the wizard was all too ready to let this situation escalate into further violence.

Herr Johannes spared the man and his need to proof himself after nearly pissing himself no mind. Instead his attention was fully focused on the small statue distantly resembling a human being, where it was stuck in the hollowed out trunk of the Donar's Oak.

He could easily revive Gellert if he were to complete the ritual for the boy, yet there were unknown factors he could not simply dismiss.

Herr Johannes knew it well enough. One sacrifice at a time was easy enough to deal with, but sacrificing one's own life additionally to a preceding sacrifice such as an eye? That was deep magic. That would require all his skill, and possibly no little luck since there were two fools around to mess up his concentration. Or maybe it would require some more… But that was fine. For kin no price was too steep.

Some gleaming red spell impacted with the furlined manteau of Herr Johannes only to dissipate without extracting any reaction of the old man whatsoever.

"I've told you," Kiebert whispered harshly at the young Magistrate. "He's  _the_  Grindelwald! If you think getting your ass handed by the Headmaster is bad, then you stand no chance against him!"

He'd grown up hearing of the terrible yet fantastic feats of magic his man, - no! - this monster was capable of. Supposedly one of the only people in existence who magically could create gold with a mere wave of his stick or staff! Even the damned Nicholas Flamel needed his Philosopher's Stone for that! - And that didn't even touch the fact that Herr Johannes Grindelwald was supposedly even older than Flamel  _without_  having access to the Elixir of Life!

Upon hearing who he had attacked, Knud Eberstadt barely managed to not stagger backwards. But then the anger overrode his fear. He took a brazen step forward and raised the wand once more in a threatening manner. "Even if you are famous! This is no way to treat the dead!"

Herr Johannes growled lowly in his throat upon being brought out of his musing, and with a stomp of his staff he summoned the crown of horn - his crown - into his hands.

It felt warm still, and with an apodictic gesture of claim he put it upon his head.

He hadn't realised until then just how  _right_  having this crown upon his head would feel again. He hadn't realised before just how much he had missed this feeling.

Barely could he remember why he had decided to cast away his crown in favor of living a human life, a simple life. But, as it were, he still could remember and therefore resisted what his nature demanded of him.

"Don't speak of things you know nothing about,  _boy_ -," he spat the last word at the two wizards before he straightened up, "- lest I find myself tempted to educate you on how it behoves to behave when in my presence!"

Kiebert in a short moment of precognition jabbed his wand at the young Magistrate, casting one of his favoured confounding spells straight at the back of his head.

It was the best thing he could come up with in the spur of the moment, and if it meant that he could prevent the gruesome mutilation of Knud, then so be it. Even if the Swiss bastard would be too arrogant and ungrateful to realise it later on.

Knud Eberstadt for his part stared dumbly into the night. It wouldn't last for long but for as long as it lasted he would be little better than vegetable.

"Begging your pardon, Sir," Kiebert offered with a pleading tone, sweat on his forehead and fear in his voice once again marking his truthfulness. "Knud - he's Swiss. You know how they are!" His hand moved hurriedly to grab the materials of Knud's robe, pulling him back a few steps. "He's meant no ill-will, but we were ordered to bring back Gellert Grindelwald, and Knud's the Magistrate, you see?"

"Rasmussen wrote me." Herr Johannes acknowledged Kiebert's words, only to add with a barely restrained growl, "Keep him leashed, boy! Maybe you lot shall survive the night then."

Once that was done, Herr Johannes threw himself towards the 'how' of bringing back Gellert.

He glanced into the night sky, and cursed inwardly. He'd have to hurry. The moon already waned almost too much.

With a careless motion he threw his staff to the ground and plunged his hands into the inner pockets of his manteau. The stick was what he needed for this, not the staff. There was no telling what would go wrong if he were to do this by staff.

"Avert your eyes, boys! 'Tis beyond human understanding!" He warned, for let no one say that Herr Johannes was not civil.

A twitch of the long red-stained stick sent the staff, the body and the idol to rise from the ground.

Thunder cracked and lightning followed, which to the beholder should have been obviously wrong. The natural order of things was that the lightning came before the sound, and yet here, in the night of the Esbat, in face of the fell magicks invoked by self-sacrificial idiocy atop the most occult mountain of the German Realm, such things seemed to matter little.

Herr Johannes didn't bother to check if his command had been followed, instead he directed the body of his kin afloat before him to clasp lifeless hands to Foldardróttinn's head.

A moment later the staff began to orbit around the body and the earthen idol much like Terra was moving around the Sol. Except in this case, the roles had to be reversed.

Herr Johannes breathed labouredly into the night as he raised his hand atop his head. With a mighty slash he called down the sky's rage to shatter the cocoon of stone the magic had built itself a home in.

Half a heartbeat later the sky tore open and a fusillade of lightning surged down into the idol, tearing and clawing away the stone until a pulsing bright light shimmered threateningly where the statue had been.

Wind picked up and whipped angrily over the gentle hill, bending the trees and breathing away most up to anything in its wake.

* * *

Abraham Kiebert whimpered quietly at the odd sounds he could hear, the smell of ozone he could smell and the feeling of raw power he could feel prickling on his skin, the ferocious wind beating into his face.

The sweat on his body had turned cold and he was shivering with cold-dreaded fear. He'd rather leave, thank you very much. But the fact that  _the_  Grindelwald had not given him leave, to - well - leave, kept him rooted.

The thing with Abraham Kiebert was, - while he was a fully educated wizard, and well-practiced Charms Warden with a couple of decades of experience under his belt, he never had been very bold or daring. He knew his charms of course, as was his job, and he knew his way around Durmstrang and its people and that always had been good enough for him.

But now, here, with his back to this terrifying - living, breathing legend of central-european magical history?

He damn-well near shat himself! - Only the tactile feeling of damp robe in his right hand kept him somewhat clear in the head. He'd to make sure that Knud didn't get himself killed by accident, after all.

Suddenly the sound of arriving apparition broke him out of his thoughts of self-pity and fear-induced panic.

"In the name of Prince Henry of Prussia, cease your infernal magicks and drop your weapons!"

Kiebert opened his eyes just wide enough to glance whence the voice had come. He couldn't see much, but he could make out a few dark figures at the far side of the glade.

"Your eyes! Keep them shut, boy! Don't you dare move,"  _the_  Grindelwald ordered brusquely from his left side, and almost in a mutter he added, "if you want to live through the night."

Immediately, quite without thinking Abraham Kiebert's eyelids performed as ordered. He clenched his eyes shut, just as a static sound of fear once more began to underline the sounds he could make out.

Anything he could hear sounded oddly distant, as if he was standing at the end of a long hallway, listening to the talking of people who were almost out of range.

* * *

"Wizards! You were ordered to cease and desist this heresy! Drop your weapons!"

A few more words were spoken and then silence fell over the glade.

Then the wind returned and with it spellfire came. But what chance stood a spell against the force of nature?

Herr Johannes didn't bother to reply, he had no time to waste. In a few minutes at best, seconds at worst the time-window to perform the finishing touch to the ritual would be over and with it the chance to return Gellert to life!

With a careless gesture with his stick towards the orbiting staff he sent his favorite tool of trade to defend him and Gellert's body.

Immediately the staff leapt at the attackers. It rose threateningly before them and then, with some otherworldly force, went down upon the earth before them.

The  _Hauptmann_  with his people didn't wait for anything to happen. He chose preemptive defense, focusing their attacks on the piece of wood.

A shudder went through the thin fabric of reality and then ripples - no! - waves of liquid earth began to surge towards the German wizards, making their supposed advantage in numbers seem like a laughable thing.

Meanwhile Herr Johannes guided his stick towards the ritual's accumulated magic, - which still felt too much like a human soul for his liking - and cast his conscious self, his metamagical being at it.

Within a heartbeat the skeuomorph was enslaved to his will and almost petulantly moved towards the cooling body of Gellert.

Herr Johannes' stick was ready. He was just awaiting the right moment, his whole body wet with sweat, his breathing laboured and his knees weak from the exhaustion.

Shouting once more filled the air, yet Herr Johannes spared them no mind. He trusted his staff to do what was necessary.

As the magic entered Gellert, his body began to convulse. Seizing this moment, Herr Johannes jabbed the stick's bloody tip towards the ashen- and blood painted chest, and together with the distant rumble of thunder his immane voice cried, "From  _Harrachsdorf_  to  _Warmbrunn_  to  _Trautenau_  - I command the earth! From  _Kleinaupa_  to  _Tannwald_  to  _Starkenbach_  - I rule the trees! Within the  _Elbe_  - I run the waters! I breath life at you, thrice spoken, I heave life on you! Live! Live! Live! This, I Herr Johannes command! This, by Herr Asagrim, I swear! This, I Herr Johannes demand!"

The spectacle roused the eidola from their silence, and near-silent cheers welled up in a chorus of supranatural whispers.

A pure and bright golden jet of light flashed from the bloody stick into the body and immediately the convulsions stopped.

A forceful tremor ran through the body from head to toes and then, with a start all the bodily functions of the hitherto dead body sprang to life once more.

* * *

When Gellert came to himself the world didn't seem to make much sense to him.

All these sensory things he could feel, hear and smell - they seemed, for the lack of better word, shifted, - wrong, as if they were just off by a few degrees into a direction he had never known of.

Anything touching to his skin felt more detailed, - wrong -, too much. All the sounds that droned on him were just too many at a time and too loud to distinguish between them. The air too smelled - not different, - but there were things in it he had never smelled before, or at least Gellert thought so as he greedily breathed in as quick as he could.

And then pain became his world. It was a familiar pain, though, and while the air he had just so greedily sucked into his lungs was punched out of his body, Gellert almost relished in the knowledge that he was alive!

He was about to stammer something when the voice of Herr Johannes cut through the static noise in his ears.

"Shut your mouth, boy! I have no need to hear your dung for brain spout any excuses!"

From the distance odd sounds reached Gellert's ears as he forced his eye open. He'd never heard anything of the likes before and yet he, almost by instinct, could tell it was something akin to an landslide that must have caused them.

Then he took note of the fact that he was afloat in the air, strung up like a puppet by some invisible strings. It was an odd feeling because he could feel the magicks that kept him in place, and he knew quite without having any idea where from or how, that he could easily escape.

"May I open my eyes now, Sir?" A rather rattled voice asked quietly from a few steps to Gellert's right. He couldn't turn his head, but he recognized the voice.

Gellert barely resisted to snort with mirth. He'd never expected the usually so staunch Charms Warden Kiebert to sound so pitiful when not in control of the situation.

Herr Johannes growled lowly, though it was far weaker than Gellert had ever heard before, and immediately the whimpering of Kiebert ceased.

The burning in his right eye, and the pain in his empty eye socket was ignored as Gellert quickly glanced upwards, only to find that the night sky was covered by thick clouds.

Quickly he put the things together he could deduct from the knowledge that he, in fact, was alive and that his grandfather, Herr Johannes, was here.

And so, he asked, "Was the ritual a success then?"

That, Gellert should have known, was the wrong question to ask. Half a second after he had spoken another invisible punch drove the air out of his lungs, caused spittle to fly from his mouth and his guts to hurt somewhat fierce.

Suddenly the sounds in the distance stopped, and with a chanted chorus the counterattack returned with full force once more.

Gellert's eye widened as he saw intense spell-light flood the clearing with its brilliant green shine.

Eight jets of haunting green light sailed towards Herr Johannes' back.

In an instant the wooden staff, now scorched black was back in white-knuckled, wrinkly hands and the shadows cast into Herr Johannes' face seemed to loom over his entire being like a veil of darkness. The crown of horns seemed to tower over him as if it was not just some decoration put upon his head but rather a extension of his body, a set of antlers grown to show just how great he was.

This moment, so Gellert would later think, was the beginning - the invitation to let go of his remaining humanity, to embrace madness and his true nature, and the jettison of rationality. It was the invitation to surrender himself to the idea, the fantasy he was hunting after.

With a disturbed mix of feelings he saw how his grandfather, Herr Johannes growled with unrestrained anger and cast his furlined manteau to the ground, revealing simple brown wool robes.

Ensuing, reality shattered.

The dim light of the waning milk moon shied away from earth, distorting the hill into a field of abstract darkness and wind picked up, whipping around the  _Blocksberg_  with supernatural might.

The world groaned under the force of will Herr Johannes had unshackled, and with a mighty thrum of power, the jets of the multiple Avada Kedavra spells broke into molten bits of liquid magic, dropping slowly to the ground before they touched down just a few steps away from where Eberstadt stood behind Kiebert, from where Herr Johannes leaned heavily onto his staff.

"Dregs!" Herr Johannes spat to the ground. "You dare attempt to kill me and my kin!"

A blood flecked and singed wand flew into Gellert's hand, and slowly he managed to extract himself from the magicks that kept him afloat, stepping down invisible steps until he felt proper earth under his bare feet again. And what a feeling it was. Cold, wet and painful. All his body felt as if he'd went a few rounds against a slavic giant!

The apparent leader - the  _Hauptmann_ , stepped forward, wand at the ready. He looked quite healthy and able still, Gellert found. His  _Kapitulanten_  on the other hand were not that well off, featuring bloody gashes, lacerations and a few rather painful looking scorch marks on their uniforms. And in the distance, so Gellert could make out vaguely, were laying a few bodies.

"In the name of Prince Henry of Prussia, Prince of the Magical German Realm, I command you to surrender yourself! Surrender or perish! Your crimes are worthy of nothing less!"

As if, Gellert thought derisorily. As if Herr Johannes, or he himself for that matter, would surrender on orders of a muggle!

"Crimes?" Gellert asked with confused sounding curiosity when it didn't seem that his grandfather was going to reply. "What crimes could there have committed to warrant deadly force being used against wizards?"

It wasn't that Gellert didn't know the fact that in the German Realm almost anything related to the occult was punishable in some sort of way. It was an open secret that the fact that a muggle was ruling the Magical German Realm, spoke volumes about the freedom of magicals to exercise their nature.

Yet rarely anyone dared to criticize the Prince.

He, being the son of the deceased Frederick III., former German Emperor and former King of Prussia, and brother to the current German Emperor and King of Prussia, held some sort of nigh-inviolability. -

To the Prince, and his brother the Emperor magical beings and people were tools to be used and tools had no use for much freedom outside of the services to the Realm. And truth be told, that didn't sit right with Gellert.

And there then, Gellert's third eye bloomed open to his sacrifice's influx.

He moaned his pain quietly, one hand automatically moving to his suddenly stuffed eye socket

* * *

The wind beating at him had lessened and the command to close his eyes felt like some almost distant memory to Abraham Kiebert.

So he gave in to the confusion that was prying his eyes open, and he all too willingly gave in to the fear that widened them as he spotted Gellert alive and well enough to stand under his own power.

"You were dead," he mammered with disbelief in his voice.

But he was ignored.

Had he been made inadvertently witness to necromancy? - A trickle of fear-driven sweat ran down his back. No wonder the Prince's troops were attacking them!

Abraham's thoughts overlapped with the accusations that were being thrown around, but when  _the_  Grindelwald suddenly spoke again, all his attention centered around this man.

It was an involuntary reaction, and Abraham could not explain it without attempting to explain feeling as small as a mouse compared to a tall mountain; for the mouse, the mountain would always be as big as the sky, whereas to the mountain the mouse was of no importance.

"You dregs speak of heresy to me? I spit into the sun of your God's face! But come, try me, human filth! Your Decalogue - your laws - your rulers have no power over me! I am ' _Duch Gór_ '!"

And suddenly the humanoid form of the old man, weakly hanging onto his staff straightened up with a groaning sound that reminded Abraham of trees being felled, of a rockslide going down a mountain, of a river current running wild, tearing away at the earth.

" _Rübezahl_? You believe yourself to be a fairy then?" The  _Hauptmann_  asked with a sneer, and his  _Kapitulanten_  laughed at the word as if it was a joke only Germans could find humour in.

There, the moment the word had left the  _Hauptmann's_  lips the earth cleft open below the man and with a mighty shudder of the hill they stood upon, roots surged upwards.

They gripped the man and as swift as they had come, they disappeared again, dragging the man with a cry of pain and surprise below the earth. Another shudder of the hill, and the earth closed again.

One more for the chthonian realms. One more for the Orcus.

Disbelief filled the faces of the  _Kapitulanten_ , and Abraham was sure, he too looked no less shocked.

"Herr Johannes," Gellert Grindelwald muttered almost too quietly for Abraham to hear. It sounded oddly pleading to him, and then, suddenly he seemed to understand.

It made a strange sort of sense. Gellert Grindelwald, unburnt in an inferno of flames, and then suddenly alive? Plausible!

And it too meant that he, Abraham Kiebert, would never be able to convince people of the truth of what had happened, what was going to happen here. Who would believe him that  _the_   _Karkonosz_  himself had revived Gellert Grindelwald? Who would believe him that the  _Duch Gór_  had lived a human life? Who would believe him that the  _Schrat_  had declared war upon the Prince of Prussia?

The shock left the  _Kapitulanten_  and within a heartbeat Gellert Grindelwald forced himself to let go of where he had clutched his hands to his bloodstained face. He lifted his wand and then madness filled the clearing with spellfire.

Abraham, more out of reflex than out of conscious decision grabbed the robes of Eberstadt and pulled him farther away. His own wand was gripped tightly, ready to conjure up defenses at any given time.

* * *

Herr Johannes' entire being felt feeble beyond the word's simple and descriptive meaning.

With a sudden start he knew his time was up. He felt it in his bones. It was an ache that was not going to disappear until he gave in and left behind this anthropoid form he had clung on to for seven hundred years. He was going to return to being a formless spirit bound to the stones of the mountains that had birthed him.

It was an outlandish feeling that reminded him of the moments he had realised himself having a physical form. It had been a wish of the sum of eidola and people living off the mountains, and he, being the ruler of these mountains, had granted the wish.

Even now, hundreds of years later the legends of his gratefulness and helpfulness to the kind and respectful people and his anger and punishments towards those that harmed the mountains were quite well-known!

Though, this form, - it had felt like a costume worn a few numbers too small for comfortable wear and yet he had enjoyed wearing it. But now it was old and the fabric too thin to last any longer.

It had been an experience, for sure, but the human notion of grieving nostalgia was lost on the remaining thoughts Herr Johannes could muster. He had no need for these comfortless thoughts. These last moments he should not spend grievously thinking of the past.

Rather he should shatter the illusion of power these fools before him hold, to never mend again!

Yes. That was a good idea. He would break the illusion of power and unity these people had called upon themselves to wear as their suits of labour under a fool with his kin. Fools who called science and warfare to aid whenever the established reality dawned suspicions of unexpected nature!

Herr Johannes thought these thoughts and stared impassively at Gellert attacking these foolish soldiers.

He watched how Gellert forced these soldiers attempting to take flight with their apparition back into tangible form. He watched how Gellert single-handedly fought seven adult men to a standstill, while still suffering from the aftermath of the ritual.

And he thought that maybe now was indeed a good time to let go and take his leave.

The boy was ready.

With that thought firmly in mind, Herr Johannes stamped his staff to the ground.

Gellert seemed startled for a short moment, but then recognition flashed over his pale face, and he disapparated the short distance back to his grandfather.

Pale blue and coal black eyes stared up at the crowned man.

"The time's up. I have overstayed my welcome, boy."

"I know," Gellert admitted tonelessly. "I'll visit when I can, grandfather. Until then… I'll know to keep myself busy."

The wizards seemed to used the short moment of reprieve to recover and undo most of the spells Gellert had layered upon them to prevent their immediate escape.

Gellert was about to disapparate once more to finish what he had started when Herr Johannes spoke up, "And one more thing, Gellert." He stomped his staff twice. "Know that you are worthy of your name. I'll gift you this with my last - for the Greater Good."

And with that the  _Duch Gór_  turned translucent and with a wisp of wind he was gone only to reappear before the  _Kapitulanten_.

There he grew to three times three his original size, all the anthropoid features leaving his face until only the cabalistic shadow of the spirit cast to the gentle hill by the returning moonlight marked him manlike.

The giant staff went down onto the earth three times and through each strike an echo of tantric force went through the world, sensible only to those of magical nature.

And with each strike the giant grew in size until he was as tall as the sky was high.

Then the echoes returned, and the first echo forced the wizards to bend their knees, the second forced their attention onto the earth before them, and the third echo coerced the eidola of the mountain to remember until the end of their time.

Thus spake  _Karkonosz_  to the spirits of these lands: "For hate's sake I spit my curse at these humans! Calamity shall befall these lands thrice! They shall be bound to servitude to the red-feathered Goodmann to fill the empyrean necropolis! For as long as the  _Riesageberge_  stand-"

* * *

"What happened," Knud Eberstadt asked slowly as he came to himself again. He felt dazed and as if had slept a few hours too much or too little.

He blinked a few times upon seeing a colossal diaphanous brown robed giant standing in the distance. And then, quite sure that he still was not all that clear in the head, he turned around, searching with bleary eyes for his colleague.

Yet, instead of Abraham Kiebert his eyes fell on a very much alive Gellert Grindelwald, who stood with his back towards him, facing the clearing.

Right away he made the sign of the cross, muttering a prayer to his Lord, yet his thoughts betrayed the ingrained, learnt religious belief, for they were replaying his knowledge of Sinthgunt and Frija and Wodan of the Merseburg Charm to heal any injury.

Still the nagging feeling of disbelief kept with him. The Merseburg Charms never were proven to work. And even then, a chanted spell was an anachronism, - outdated, useless!

"Better you don't ask," Abraham Kiebert said from behind him, his voice sounding broken and tired. "You wouldn't believe me anyways, if I were to tell you."

The young Magistrate scrunched up his face into a frown at these words, but he conceded the point with a shrug. He never had been one to believe anything without having seen it with his own two eyes.

"Where's the old Grindelwald?"

Kiebert muttered something that sounded almost like he had lost his marbles before he grabbed Knud by the shoulder to spin him around.

"He! Even if you wouldn't believe me, - there. Now. What do you think?"

Knud stared into the rather gloomy night, still quite befuddled. "What do you mean?"

Kiebert jabbed his stubby finger skyward, and with an abstract sort of urgency he repeated the movement, exclaiming, "There! Don't you see it?"

Knud blinked and then he indeed saw it. "Heilige…" Knud Eberstadt stopped himself before he could speak anymore blasphemous words.

Kiebert nodded expressively. "Quite. I've got no idea how we should explain,  _this_ ," he gestured towards where the spirit was, "to old Rasmussen!"

Suddenly the light returned to the  _Blocksberg_ , and with it, Knud realised, the spirit disappeared as if it never had existed.

A movement shifted his attention to Gellert Grindelwald just as he turned around, his face slack and void of any emotion.

"Gentlemen," he said as he walked towards them.

Knud tensed while his hand fingered for his wand upon spotting the boy holding his own blood flecked tool of trade.

"Why do you think we must tell the Headmaster anything?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Karkonosz, Duch Gór, Rübezahl, Schrat - are names to describe a very powerful mountain spirit ruling the Riesengebirge/Karkonosze (Which at the time of this story was part of the German Realm/Empire.) The spirit supposedly appeared wearing a brown robe and a staff. The legend says that the spirit hated being called 'Rübezahl', and he would only be friendly if you were to address him as 'Herr Johannes', and if not... well people died all the time when climbing mountains.  
>   
>   
> Herr Asagrim, Foldardróttinn, Haptasnytrir, Glapsviðr, Hangatýr - Are all names by which the Allfather - Odin is known. Each name addresses a different facet of the Allfather's presence. And Odin too, would often appear to people who prayed to him, wearing brown robes and a staff, playing the role of passersby or a wanderer, to give aid or counsel.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wrapping up the previous scene with this chapter.  
> The next chapter is about done too.

"What do you mean? - Keep your wand where I can see it, Grindelwald!"

Gellert's expression barely changed when he spoke yet his eyes burned with unspoken malice at the commanding tone of Eberstadt, "What I mean to say is: do you  _know_  what has happened here? Are you assured of that knowledge?" Suddenly he smiled broadly. "Maybe I should tell you what has happened, hm? That would be better than making assumptions, Magistrate Eberstadt. - Charms Warden Kiebert, don't you agree?"

Pressing a breath through his lips, Gellert exhaled noisily. He felt absurdly good in spirit and yet terrible in body at the same time.

He felt as if he held an army in his fist, - his wand, a tool of slaughter and he'd just have to raise it to call forth the utter destruction of all that was before him.

And there too were these odd feelings of precognition that seemed to nudge his entire being in certain directions. Was it the effect of his new eye and the ritualistic enhanced Sight? Or was it the Curse his grandfather had spoken upon these lands telling him to leave? He couldn't rightly say.

But there too was this feeling of exhaustion, which admittedly he would have to give in soon, or his body would do it - force it upon him. But until then: no weakness!

Abraham Kiebert seemed shaken up by the events of the night. Gellert expected little resistance from him. But Eberstadt, - the man was a chip of a different block. He'd rather break than bend, and Gellert, just now and then, was all too eager to provide.

Maybe he should hamstring the man, just until he understood - it was his own preferred method of teaching subservience to the school's laws, after all. No. There was a better way.

Eberstadt's face tensed briefly before he replied, and he went on to say, " _Disciple_  Grindelwald; are you threatening  _us_?"

Gellert didn't bother to look at the man. He was more annoying than useful for the moment, but Kiebert on the other hand, - the man had potential, just as much as he had potential use for Gellert's plans.

And as luck had it, the future was clear, for once.

Staring at the Charms Warden, Gellert almost absently replied to Eberstadt, "Why, yes. You have a wonderful grasp on the situation, Magistrate Eberstadt. I do threaten  _you_. I threaten your existence by being me. I threaten everything that is your remit by thinking for myself. Do you think you can stop that from happening?"

Eberstadt's wand dithered slightly in his hands as he heard Gellert speak. His face, though betrayed no reaction to these words.

"You are to be brought before the Headmaster. He shall decise what's to happen with you. Your threat will be reported additionally to tonight's events. If the Headmaster is willing, I'll go as far as to provide my memory," said Eberstadt and then he turned to Kiebert, roughly rapping him on the arm.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Knud," Kiebert, being roused from his thoughts said quietly.

Eberstadt's head snapped to his colleague. "What?" He gripped Kiebert's arm and made to shake him. "Are you mad, Abraham? You'd let this go unpunished? He's attacked the Prince's troops! There will be war!"

Gellert laughed out at him, overcome by the absurdity of the statement. "War? There always will be war! Muggles are incapable of peace!"

But Eberstadt ignored the student he'd been sent out to return to school, instead he entreated his colleague, "Abraham! He's been returned to life! Necromancy and attacks on the Prince's loyalist troops?" He shook his head as if to convey just how absurd the thought was. "We ought to do right in this situation!"

But Kiebert was having none of it. "What do you think," he asked angrily while shaking off the hand that gripped him. "Do right by Lutherans and Junkers? We are different from the lot! We'd be executed for witnessing tonight, and still you'd wish to present yourself before the Prince?"

Eberstadt reacted as if he'd been slapped. "Abraham! You don't mean that!"

"Why shouldn't I mean it, Knud? You are a christian-catholic - a Jansenist! Of course you'd be on  _their_  side!" Abraham Kiebert, in a bout of anger, took a step back and pulled out his wand. "How does that even work, hm? Believing in a God that'd damn you to the sixth circle of hell for existing!"

Gellert chose that moment to speak up. "Well, of course he'd be on  _their_  side, Charms Warden Kiebert! As a religious man he must've been against Bismarck and his  _Kulturkampf_! But now that the 'Iron Chancellor's dead, clearly he's willing to walk to Canossa,-" he trailed off.

All of a sudden a sound of whispery cheers rose over the hill. It was an odd sound that Gellert could not hear, but rather feel deep within his being. It was a vibration that travelled through his soul, and through his soul to his ears. It was the collective cheer of all the spirits of the mountain celebrating, and it was almost frightening to feel it.

None of the other two man in front of him seemed to take note of it, and naturally, Gellert knew that it was hard for the common man to keep track of the divine in life - and by such he meant of course not the religious things but the intangible spirits of which miracles were born from. It was some sort of spiritual blindness that came with a certain age to people, together with their interest in politics, warfare and money.

"I'm Swiss," Eberstadt protested hotly, a tight gesture showing his anger. "What have I got to do with the German Realm's politics or religion?" With a pleading look he entreated his colleague once more. "Abraham! You must see the truth in my words!" He gestured with his wand carelessly towards Gellert. "He's just playing with you, with me! You never cared about my religious belief before, - so why now?"

"It's not so much about religion, if I were to make guess, Magistrate Eberstadt. It's about the fact that you'd cower before a muggle, -showing your obeisance, -selling out your magical brethren!" Turning to address Kiebert, Gellert added, "People such as the Magistrate demand freedom speech for their religious practices, beliefs and effects, as a compensation for the freedom of mind they so seldom use, -"

And that did it. Eberstadt's wandtip lit up and in a moment of loss of control the spell surged from the tip towards Gellert.

Gellert though reacted quickly. He defended himself by deft use of a selfcrafted shielding spell with the shine of half the rainbow's colours glinting briefly in the air. And just afore the spell impacted harmlessly against it, Gellert pointed his own wand in a quick motion at Eberstadt.

A jet of red light flew from the tip at Knud Eberstadt and instantly his body fell into a heap of limbs.

With a put on sigh Gellert walked over. "Nature can be so soothing to the tormented mind, don't you think so too, Charms Warden Kiebert? Yes, you do, don't you?" He forced eye contact between himself and Kiebert, and went on to say, "The resistance you just saw… it shows how much work lays ahead of us if we wish to sway these… illiberal forces. For too long have they laboured under the rule of a muggle. They won't think it wrong, absurd even. We have to be understanding, Charms Warden! We have to show our understanding and be gentle with them. They clearly are not in their right mind, as the poor Magistrate has shown. - When confronted with reality, he lashed out! We must protect them from their own behavior, and we must show them, gradually, that they are wrong."

Gellert gestured with his wand almost kindly towards the unconscious Swiss. "We better take the matter of the Prince's troops off his mind for now, - what say you?"

* * *

Abraham Kiebert felt a queer mix of feelings in his chest. One of these feelings was a deep disturbed sense of unease about how he had spoken and acted towards his colleague and friend. This feeling of unease though was wholly overshadowed by a pure feeling of righteousness or rather veracity as he saw Gellert Grindelwald defend himself and subsequently stupefy Eberstadt.

"It seems wrong," he finally allowed himself to mutter. For indeed it seemed wrong to tamper with the mind of another wizard.

Oh, truth be told, Kiebert had no such qualms when it came to the muggle traders they liberate their necessities from, but a wizard? That was different, - and not just because Eberstadt was a wizard but also because Abraham knew him quite well.

Grindelwald spoke up once more. His voice sounded distant yet unusually comforting, "Fret not, Charms Warden! The most painful state of being is remembering events of past or a possible future, - particularly those that rouse emotions. And don't you think so too, that the Magistrate wouldn't want to remember? He was on the verge of action against a brethren! If he'd known the outcome beforehand, he'd not have begun acting!"

That did make sense, and Abraham agreed. Still! The nagging feeling of wrongness lingered in his guts. It had him infested, worming through him and was causing doubts.

And then, without tangible reason, the doubt disappeared and it was replaced by the conviction that Grindelwald was right; it would be better to remove these memories temporarily to ease Knud away from his foolish ideas of muggle religion and loyalism to a muggle Prince.

Abraham knelt beside Knud and with precision born from his knowledge of Charms, he erased the past hours from the mind of Knud Eberstadt.

"Well done," Gellert Grindelwald praised quietly. "It was necessary, as much as it saddens me to bespell one of our own."

"I hope you are right. I take it you won't return to Durmstrang with us?"

Grindelwald shook his head almost tiredly, a small cloud of ash leaving his hair. "You can report what you will to the old Rasmussen. There is much to be done. I can see it before me."

"Should I tell the Headmaster the truth then?"

"Charms Warden Kiebert - if it makes you feel better, then assure the old Rasmussen that I was a fiend, practicing the most foulest of all forbidden arts. Tell him that I was raised from the state of death by sacrificing the life of a Grindelwald. Tell him that my grandfather is gone. Whatever you wish, do tell him."

Abraham nodded jerkily. He could already predict the Headmaster's reaction to that. First he'd celebrate the death of  _the_  Grindelwald, then he'd curse Gellert Grindelwald for killing him, and then he'd start hexing people. "And you, Herr Grindelwald? Are you going to travel?"

Gellert Grindelwald waved his wand towards the trunk of the Donar's Oak, summoning his sickle and the unburnt bowls. He hummed quietly to himself as he considered the question. Then, coming to an rather abrupt end, he replied, "The most dangerous worldviews are the worldviews of those who have never viewed the world. I ought to make sure I have seen it all, no?"

Abraham didn't quite agree, but he kept his opinion to himself. He'd seen enough for one night. He'd rather get back to Durmstrang, put Knud to bed and report to the Headmaster, so as to get done with it all and finally find some rest on his own.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, no beta.  
> Please leave me some feedback.  
> Translations can be found at the end.

 

It was two weeks later, close to noon when Gellert, could be seen properly clothed wandering the streets of the muggle garrison town Lunenburg.

The wounds on his face had healed as well as they usually did, and a bit of applied human self-transfiguration kept the scarring from interfering with his outer appearance.

He had an image to uphold in public, as he still was deep in his preparations to leave the Realm. It wouldn't to do make his extensive use of sacrificial rituals known. People, no matter how educated or learnt would explode into accusations, much like the Headmaster of Durmstrang had done. The possibility of having this knowledge leak into the world was far too great to risk it.

To Gellert it was odd how and why people thought they could command him with their own morals, imposing on him their ethics, expecting him to do as they bid without uttering a single question, without fighting for his own choice and freedom. It was odd because he could not comprehend the thinking these people laboured under.

Or, which admittedly he found most often present in the muggle world, where he now once again walked the streets: people under the yoke, existing for one purpose above all, to work until they dropped, from dusk till dawn, from the cradle to the grave.

Despite his deep and heartfelt conviction that there were some races more cultured and advanced through birth and ennobled by education than others, and that these races, Magicals in this case, were required to shoulder the burden as the betterborn to ensure a brighter future for all of mankind, - despite all this, he could not prevent himself from feeling drawn to these simple people and their beseemingly honest ways.

If he were to be asked, Gellert would not be able to explain it. Perhaps it was mere curiosity for the different drawing him in, perhaps it was the absurd idea that he could make out some difference between himself and the non-magical humans, as if there was some abstract marking on them that would paint them a different species. Perhaps he was hoping to find something to direct his feelings of hate at.

All this was speculation, and truth be told, Gellert felt no need to search for an explanation. He would sample this simple satisfaction he felt for as long as he could before it would turn sour in his mouth, until it was fermented by time and the realisation that he too was a traitor to his own self, his ideas and his brethren! Until he would, with steely conviction cut away these ideas, to face once more his ideals and born from them he would, with proper justification, torch the world alight.

Scorched earth was the best soil to plant a new age on.

Gellert would never walk a path free of worries. He would never live a life of prosperity.

No, Gellert knew the path he was to walk was harsh and treacherous and it would end in his grave, and yet, he would not regret walking it. It was for the Greater Good!

Knowing all this it was no surprise when Gellert stepped out of the muggleborn-lead Raths-Apotheke in Lunenburg, having ordered the apothecary to give mouth when fresh young valerians were available again.

A few Prussian Officers were marching over the dirty street like proud peacocks in their blue uniform jackets, and all the people not busy with their daily hard work gawked at them inspired with reverence

It was nothing new, though every time Gellert saw it, he felt a clear set of emotions within himself.

This act of devotion to the military born from Prussian pride; the militarisation of all people even, hoisting mere officers into the ranks of demigods, was followed by an act of justification where the common people lowered themselves beneath the military. They would implore their pardons for their ignorance, and insolence. They would beg for the officers to keep the evil at bay.

And Gellert thought it all disgusting! It showed well enough on his face and it drove him to leave.

His next stop was to be Hamburg. The  _Heinrichstraße_ , to be precise.

When Gellert appeared, dozens of men, dirty and looking worn were on the street, crowding around the tall wood-framed windows here and there.

You see, the  _Heinrichstraße_  was infamous for housing prostitutes.

And as such it was simple enough to duck into the masses of men and to disappear from the eyes of whoever was looking at or for him. Here Gellert was just another concupiscent man, just another whoremonger to spend the coin he'd just earned.

For it was friday. And that meant: it was payday for the workers, and those that had managed to escape the clutches of their wifes, awaiting them at the factory gates to secure the money before it could be spent, were eager to get into the taverns to drink away their woes or to get their itch scratched by one of the whores.

Gellert moved with purpose. He stalked past the worn men and the equally worn looking women offering themselves up.

A few metres past the mob, a small door opened way to a very peculiar type of house.

Inside he was greeted by the smell of burnt paper and the smoke of cheap tobacco, and behind the counter next to the entrance he saw the matron. She looked not all that old when compared to Rasmussen or some other people Gellert had met. Still she looked wrinkled and unhealthy, as if someone had sped up her body's aging.

She noticed him as soon as he stepped up to the counter. "What do you want?"

" _Café prussien_! A fresh brew, and hot. Sugar too, if you will!"

"Have you got the money? I won't waste a single bean without seeing some  _Pfennige_ ," said she wholly unimpressed with his attitude.

Coffee beans were expensive. Her attitude as such was understandable, still Gellert didn't spare her much more than a glance as he threw his coin to the counter. "Have it be brought to my room by your daughter." He ordered her, and went on to climb the wooden stairs.

Unseen by him the woman behind the counter grimaced.

He went past the open rooms with thin linen for privacy. He knew there to be layabouts chasing the dragon, but he cared little for these addicts.

Gellert continued past the two rooms with the cheap and shabby, syphilitic strumpets, past the second set of stairs to a small and unremarkable door with a brass handle.

He had rented this furnished room the day after his last ritual. It was quiet enough as he had applied himself to learn all the necessary spellwork to ensure privacy. And it was not unusual to rent furnished rooms these days, and as such nobody had batted an eye at Gellert doing the very same. Living quarters were an expensive good.

Without much care for the Statute he drew forth his wand and pressed it to the wooden frame just above the handle, and with the sound of glass shattering in the distance, the door sprang open, revealing a seemingly endless space of twisted darkness.

* * *

It was half an hour after arriving that Gellert's ordered  _café prussien_  arrived. It was a drink that took a bit getting used to, but lacking a better option, he had found its taste to his liking.

And as requested was it delivered by the daughter of the matron, a girl named  _Marlene Hübsch_. - It was a name she neither deserved nor wore well enough to call her such.

To Gellert she was  _Täubchen_ , for she was often wearing grey clothes, reminding him of the feathering of a common pigeon and her looks too were just as simple. She would soon look much like her mother, aged prematurely and fit only for the menial tasks of such an abode.

She, of course, took it as a term of endearment and Gellert was not too keen to correct her.

To her, Gellert was the adoring invitation to a terra incognita she never had dared to dream of, and yet there it was, - a world of magic, whereas to him she was a mildly useful project to keep himself busy with.

You see, Marlene, like many other muggleborn witches in the German Realm of this time and age was barred from receiving the proper education she required to master her own abilities. - Magical training, an education even in one of the proper schools, was expensive and the Prince Henry was not known for his generosity.

And so, when Gellert had found her he had offered to teach her.

Marlene stood in the doorframe, the enamel pitcher and a worn pottery mug in her hands. She stared into the dark of the room, unable to see anything without being invited in.

"Come in and put it down,  _Täubchen,_  and be quick about it. We have much to do," said Gellert not unkindly, "and your Madam Mother will keep watch for if you take too long up here."

Marlene's eyes suddenly found focus and she nodded and did as she was told. She put down the pitcher and the mug on top the small dresser that stood left to the door. The sugar, a small wooden caster, she pulled from the depths of her dress.

Once she was done, Marlene turned back to where Gellert was setting up weirdly polished cauldrons and other objects she never had seen before.

Upon closer inspection she amended. One item she could make out: the valerian she knew from the summers where she would pick it on the fields. Her grandmother had taught her it a cheap meal.

Marlene stood still. Her hands working through the folds of her skirt betrayed her nervousness.

After a few more moments of waiting in silence, Gellert spoke up once more. "Come! You stand here," he commanded and pointed to before the table, next to where he stood. "We shall see if I can't teach you a bit of potioneering. If you are interested, of course,  _Täubchen_."

Marlene was quick to nod her head and then she hurried over, wiping her sweaty palms at her skirt. Timidly she began examining the objects she was to work with today.

It didn't take long for Gellert to get her started. He guided her, the mug filled with the chicory coffee in his hands. He had her uncork the small bottles, drop the Lethe River Water into the cauldron, and with his help, she too managed to procure a small flame from her ill-fitting wand. She added some more ingredients, and she stirred as she was told.

"You see, my  _Täubchen_ , this potion will help you," said Gellert then as they reached the point of brewing where nothing was to be done but waiting.

An intense gaze met Marlene's own before she averted her eyes out of sheer reflex. "What's it going to do?"

"Whoever drinks this potion, shall forget," Gellert explained with a smile. "They shall forget whatever the brewer wishes them to forget. Isn't that just a wonderful piece of magic?"

Marlene was confused for a long moment. Then understanding dawned on her features. She was not stupid, by any means, but the lack of formal education left her often enough thinking in circles. And so she asked for confirmation, "It's for mother?"

Gellert confirmed with a strong voice, "Indeed it is. And for everyone else you want to forget about your hitherto very ordinary existence. You are to become a proper witch,  _Täubchen_. You are beyond these people! Why should they remember your weakness?"

Often enough had Gellert entertained Marlene with eloquent tellings of all the creatures he had met in his lessons at Durmstrang. He had told her of how he had grown up being surrounded by the spirits of the mountains, and he had told her of the fantastic world she could be part of. And to the simple Marlene, it had been inviting enough.

But now, there then confronted with the idea of making her mother forget, leaving her to fend for herself altogether. It made her skin crawl and it made her feel sick. She voiced what was on her mind.

And for a long while only the soft bubbling of the hot liquid in the cauldron could be heard.

* * *

Gellert fixed his gaze intently on the liquid, as if he was trying to pierce every single bubble rising in the clear liquid. Catoptromancy had always come easy to him. It was vague, yes, and still he preferred it over these impotent moments in which the Sight's look  _beyond_  would overcome him.

And here he saw a brief glimpse of what could be, of  _Täubchen's_  decision. Indeed, there he saw: soon he would hold the future within his hands. And  _Täubchen_  would be the one to turn the scales, - through her decision, he would sink or ascend within the morass of the German Realm, carried by flames of a particular kind.

Then the next bubble rose and the surface of the liquid distorted and another possibility replaced what he saw.

And it showed himself - no! - a picture of some self of his own in a state of transition. He was adrift between ages, old and young and all inbetween, and he was in a dark chamber, cold and wet and built by his own hands, and his self stared at where Gellert stared at the water.

Understanding and then resignation rocked both their features and then the moment broke.

"You ought to return to your mother,  _Täubchen_ ," Gellert said. "Come back with some hot something to drink." A twitch of his wand summoned some  _Pfennige_  to the startled girl. "Take your time, and think of what you want as you go."

And as  _Täubchen_  left the room to hurry down the stairs to her Madame Mother, Gellert was overcome by the realisation that he had divined the future in a liquid that was meant to make people forget.

It was rather funny, he thought.

But he had to push these thoughts aside. Instead, with wand in hand, he set about brewing his own potions. Afterwards he would be finishing his own personal research into the last book his grandfather had made available to him.

Where the others had been on invoking the blessings of spirits, on rituals for the body, on sacrifices to magic and the general nature of supernatural beings, this last book was on the most simple and yet forbidden sort of knowledge. For aught he know, it was about Curses.

* * *

A knock on the door forced Gellert out of his thoughts, forced him to leave alone the memory of when his grandfather had spoken his last words upon the mountain, had bespelled the lands with no mere threat but a Curse bound to the bedrock, enforced by all the eidola that had born witness.

Such was might! And Gellert knew it to be of importance!

Gellert flicked his wand towards the door and with the sound of glass shattering it sprang open.

It was  _Täubchen_  who had returned with a refilled pitcher in hands. Again she was waiting for Gellert to allow her entrance.

In his head there was some short-lived thoughts of hope before they were replaced by simple acceptance. Whatever she had come to decide, he would take it and move on. Time was not of the essence for now. All the world's wretched events for the next decade or two would unfold wholly on their own.

"Do come in," he said. "Put it down. And then tell me if you have come to reach a decision,  _Täubchen_."

He watched her enter the room, put down the pitcher next to a heap of newspapers and he saw her return to the frightful state she always returned to when she was nervous. In truth, Gellert thought it pitiful and he abhorred seeing any magical being presenting itself like this.

"So? What decision have you reached? The potion is almost finished." As he spoke, the hand holding onto his wand gestured towards the cauldron.

She hesitated. Her mouth opened, and closed and she drew one deep breath after another, and for one queer moment it seemed she would faint. But then resolve etched itself onto her face and with a hearty clench of her small hands, she cried, "I can't Gellert! I can't leave my mother! She's done so much for me!" And her hands moved as if to show him just how much.

Gellert didn't react visibly to her outburst. Instead he turned around and began to add the missing ingredients in proper order. Then he set to stir in silence through the first of the two potions.

After what had felt like a minute of metal scraping along metal, Gellert finally replied, "Toil and labour are your days, in and out. And how's it going for you? You have nothing to live off but the munificence of muggles! What's in your future,  _Täubchen_? Whoring yourself out or taking after your mother? Bah! What a waste of magic then!"

Admittedly, once the words had left his mouth, he felt a short moment of satisfaction at the hurt he could read off the body language of the girl. But the moment was gone before he could think of it any more and with a sigh he dropped the spoon.

"I had hopes for you,  _Täubchen_." He sounded wistful. "You could have become a proper witch. Not great, or above all the others, but certainly a proper witch. And here you throw away this chance for your  _muggle_   _mother_!" He spat the last words, disdain lacing his voice.

"That's mean to say." Her voice carried some weight for once. And Gellert knew he had found purchase with his words.

Gellert turned back to face her. He conceded the point, "So it is. The world is not fair and I am not a good man. I strive to correct the former. But tell me,  _Täubchen_ , do you not too seek to better yourself? Or what has made you accept my offer? Why all this work, this learning if you now choose to throw it away?"

People lived their lives as if they were pieces in a game of chess, limited in their movement, and their desires never going beyond the small board they were placed upon or the game they were meant to play. And if one such a game's piece should speak up for their want to do more, to move beyond, they would be told: this piece cannot move such.

Such was the daily trot of all the magicals here and beyond the borders of the German Realm. Breaking it was essential to overcoming the stupor, overcoming the rotten rituals and traditions that bound these people to their Statute of Secrecy and its harsh rule.

But what was Gellert supposed to do with such a game's piece, unwilling to move on its own beyond the sphere of its game? He could not teach this piece before him anything if it wasn't willing to learn. And even more importantly: such a piece had no use to him, no use for any of his plans, his ideas, the world's future.

It - this all; these short weeks of teaching her felt like an utter waste of time. And the patience Gellert wore as a mantle of convenience suddenly felt thin and not all that comfortable anymore.

_Täubchen_  kneaded her fingers through the fabric of her clothings, eyes wandering from Gellert over the cauldrons behind him to the small and unused bed and the grey wool blanket laying on it, and then back again to Gellert.

"I thought," she began, only to stop. She breathed a shuddering breath and began once more, "I thought it would be interesting. I thought I could learn what you do and,-" the words to give her thoughts form seemed to elude her.

"So you thought. And now? Where are those thoughts gone to?" Gellert stared with a piercing look at her, and then he continued, "Curious. Have I awoken these desires to learn and more within you? Could you have missed all these things you haven't known before meeting me, before I introduced you to them? Would your life had been the same, or different without me?"

He didn't seem to have a need to blink as he stared at her. But then, after a few more seconds he snapped his gaze away and gestured with his wand towards the table.

"The potion is almost finished,  _Täubchen_. All it needs is a spell. So tell me. Are you truly unwilling-," he stopped speaking upon hearing a rather forceful knocking on the door.

_Täubchen_  herself jumped at the sudden sound.

Not wasting any time, Gellert pointed his wand at the door. In a heartbeat a pale blue jet of light flew from the tip, zooming in on the door. There it stretched thin until it covered the whole surface of the wooden door.

The knocking receded until there was just a hollow and distant thudding to be heard.

"What's happening?"  _Täubchen_  asked, her head whipping from Gellert to the door and back.

Gellert replied without the urgency with which he had moved and cast his spell before, "It would seem I have been found. It matters little, as my preparations to leave are done now."

"You are going to leave? Why? Because of me?"

"A bit presumptuous of you to think such. My stay here always was meant to be a short one."

"You can't leave,"  _Täubchen_  said stubbornly and the tone of her voice grated on Gellert's mind.

"Don't you give me orders woman," he replied curtly. "It is you wishing to become a matron. It is you who is forgoing her fantastic powers for the life of a plebeian!"

The mulish expression on  _Täubchen's_  face faltered and was replaced by a mixed set of emotions flashing over her mien. "How could I leave my mother behind? She's my  _mother_!"

She said these words as if it would have to carry some special meaning, as if it, in itself would be enough to convince Gellert of her righteousness, of the veracity of her words. Alas! It was not. Gellert had no such emotional connection, - no such attitude that would bind himself to another human being beyond their use for the Cause.

Gellert, curiously enough, had always been that way. He could not remember a single day in his life where he had been different from the he that he was here. He could not remember a moment in which he had felt himself grown attached to another human being beyond the measurement he took of them. He could not comprehend such connections on an emotional level.

That was not to say that Gellert was not feeling things of a very similar nature. He would feel attracted to people based on their ideas, their convictions. This, in itself was a warrant for very confusing situations in which his attraction would confuse not only himself but also other people too.

Where the limits for such attraction lay, he could not say. Was it of physical nature? Of intellectual complexity? - Again, he could not say. And as a matter of fact: Gellert found no need to divine whether it was this or that. It simply seemed of little importance.

Suddenly a thunderous bang rocked the building.

Gellert, driven by some invisible force seized this opportune moment to cover the few steps distance between himself and  _Täubchen_. He put his hands upon her shoulders and pressed down on the frightened girl. She flinched at the contact.

"The time is up! Now, girl. The choice is with you. You can follow me, drink my potion, attain greatness where now you are nothing! Or you can drink your potion and forget it all and return to your mother."

He stared into her eyes, and after a few more seconds let go.

"Once this door opens, you will have to make known your allegiance! No turning back! Whence spell's fire comes at you, you must fight back at! Do not give yourself to the mellowness of womankind!"

* * *

The harsh grating sound of an iron key grinding through a rusted lock filled the room with the volume of a landslide going down a mountain, and Marlene, who had been turning with wide eyes from the aloof Gellert to the door and back, was quaking in her boots in a right state of distress.

Her face was flushed with panic, frantic thoughts of escape, of her mother and nothing altogether confusing her bodily want to make herself as small as possible.

Another tremor wrecked through the house and as the vibrations shaking the long wooden panels on the floor subsided, Gellert moved to stand behind the door, the suitcase floating behind him.

He turned to look at her, his mismatched pair of eyes gazing coldly at her, above her and then, in a deliberate slow motion to the table upon which the potions bubbled in their cauldrons.

Then the scene exploded into action. The door burst into a thousand pieces with all the spells that had hitherto been woven upon it and the room snapping like a long rope holding reality in its place.

The fragments of the door were exploding inwards, towards Gellert and then, as he flicked his wand, surged backwards, towards and through the hallway. Immediately afterwards Gellert slashed his wand down and a rainbow coloured wall of light erupted before him, absorbing any and all lights flashing towards him.

Dozens of sounds filled the air; voices crying their fear, shouting their orders, commanding spells to fly, demanding surrender, and there too were the sounds of wood breaking, stone rending, life ending.

Marlene choked on the words her mind wanted to spill out of her mouth.

What was she to do?

On the one hand, she didn't want Gellert to leave her,- she didn't want to be separated from him. She felt awe-stricken feelings in her chest, and a turmoil of more - different things within her guts at the thought of him, and none of it meant that she wanted him to be gone.

On the other hand, she didn't want to leave her mother, - she didn't want to be the ungrateful bantling, leaving behind family for very selfish reasons.

But then ideas flooded her tormented mind. Ideas of a strong Marlene with a wand in her hand, of her standing next go Gellert, of her being useful beyond serving drinks to men.

And she thought if it would truly be all that bad if she were to follow this idea.

Maybe she would be able to scramble up some money every now and then and send it to her mother? Surely that would be better for the both of them instead of having to share what meagre money they earned!

Only a few seconds had passed since the beginning of the fighting when Marlene snapped out of her thoughts. Right away she noticed the smell of smoke that began to fill the stale air of the room. Next she saw that Gellert was fighting his way out of the room. He was elegant in his movement and effective, strong - formidable even as clearly, he was it who was pushing the attackers back singlehandedly.

But she could not dwell on it. Not when she wanted to become a proper witch!

She turned towards the cauldrons and, remembering Gellert's words, she moved to the second of the two. Next to it lay a handful of brown phials of fine quality as if they had been just waiting for her to make the right decision.

Quickly she picked up a phial, and with shaky hands she attempted to fill it with the clear liquid from the cauldron. She spilled some of if it but thought nothing of it as she moved to fill a second phial.

A few moments later she was done and hurriedly turned around, rushing towards the door with both phials clutched securely in her hands.

The rush was short-lived.

The fight had only been carried a few metres into the hallway; in fact Gellert's back was the first thing Marlene saw when she dashed out of the room as fast as her skirt allowed.

He stood with his wand aloft while his suitcase floated languidly behind him; at his mind's command, the magic wand slashed down and with it came hailing down spell after spell without repose onto a group of men clad in blue uniforms. They held sabres in one hand, wands in the other, and their faces were contorted into determined grimaces, and with every of their movements, the strikingly red epaulettes dangled to and fro wildly.

Marlene registered that these people attacking dear Gellert were clad in Prussian uniforms, but she thought nothing of it. Instead she stalked forward, her heart pounding a wicked tune in her chest.

"Welcome my  _Täubchen_ ," Gellert's voice greeted her warmly, and when she came to a stop next to him, her eyes darting left and right after the jets and flashes of light dazzling her vision, she presented the two phials eagerly on her hand's open palm.

"So you have made your decision." He spoke as if out of breath. But there was no visible sign of exhaustion to see. Gellert looked still like a young spring day, fresh, bright and full of life.

Marlene nodded her head quickly. "I want to,-" she was cut off by Gellert, who said, "No time for such. Drink the potion and breath like the Uktena breathes her poison upon mankind! Breath them away,  _Täubchen_!"

Gellert jabbed his wand towards the band of soldiers, sending a gale of wind at them. And then, in a quick motion he stepped back, bowing out of the scene for Marlene to take over.

The soldiers barely managed to defend properly, but seizing the chance, they rushed out of their huddled defense and began to attack once more.

Before she could think too much of it, Marlene brought one of the phials up to her mouth and tipped it until the surprisingly cool fluid with its taste of mint flooded her mouth. She gulped it down and immediately an urge to breath, to spit at these men at the staircase layered itself upon her mind. It overcame her inhibitions and she spat out; great torrents of blazing fire flew from Marlene's mouth, dragging their heat along the walls, tumbling heavily across floor until their flames encased the men.

* * *

Gellert faintly took note that the room whence  _Täubchen_  had come from was alight with the flickering light of flames dancing over the dry wooden floor.

Well, he thought, it mattered little. He, and  _Täubchen_  would leave in a few moments, and it was none too soon. It was a folly to hope and achieve some sort of fundamental victory against these Prussian loyalist fools.

It was like swatting flies, sure enough. But alike the Hydra, If you killed one head, two more would spring up willing to lay down their lives at the word and command,- for the honor of serving under a muggle prince.

Gellert watched with a pleasant feeling of satisfaction how  _Täubchen_  filled the air with the flames of the fire-breathing potion. Once more fate had played into his hands. The ritual had been worth the pain and the blood that much was clear. Once more he had done well when selecting the person to focus on. A short time well spent.

As the flames cleared up, leaving the girl panting for breath, Gellert saw the walls and the floor glimmering with embers sticking out from the scorched surfaces. The loyalist wizards had managed to shield themselves well enough, but they too looked rather ruffled and ready to keel over for a short rest.

It was time to leave, he decided.

Drawing his suitcase close, Gellert put his hand on  _Täubchen_ 's shoulder and with a crack they were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> Täubchen - (pet name) little dove (A Taube is a common pidgeon)
> 
> Other:  
> Pfennige - monetary unit equal to ¹/₁₀₀ of the German Empire's Goldmark.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- No beta, still  
> \- Rushed some parts, sorry  
> \- Gellert meets Albus!   
> \- Translations / Explanations can be found at the end

Abraham Kiebert has had a rough couple of weeks, there's no denying that. Nobody would begrudge him drinking some few beers early in the day after listening to what he'd went through.

The drinking had started the moment he had been fired from his position as the Charms Warden of Durmstrang. And it had not ceased ever since. In fact, there had not been a single moment since he'd been thrown out of the school's charmed protections, at which Abraham Kiebert had been sober.

The Headmaster, old man Rasmussen had been livid. No, - even that would not be able to do justice to the rage the old fur clad man had spat at Abraham.

At first Abraham had been afraid the man might suffer a heart-attack, but that fear had left him just as quickly the moment the first of many spells had been flung at him.

He there then had understood what the young Herr Grindelwald had meant; the old Rasmussen, much like the majority of the older generation of witches and wizards, had been fed from the cradle onwards with the ideas of the Statute. The idea had been fortified within them to listen to the commandments of the rule of that Statute. They had become addicted to their blindness towards the reality of things. They lashed out when confronted with the idea of a new age. They wielded their aggressiveness as some justification for the righteousness of their own cause, and it made Abraham feel dizzy just remembering the madness on the face of the old man.

"Tilting at windmills," Abraham muttered as he sloshed around the stale beer in the clay jug that was clasped in his hands. His eyes were staring unseeingly at the liquid.

Abraham was not one of these people believing in the christian idea of all humans being created equal before some Lord, God or Skyfather. He thought these beliefs, as they could be found within a many religious philosophies throughout the world, to be fundamentally flawed. To him, it was an irrefutable truth of life that not all people were born of equal abilities, of equal chance to achieve some form of success in life. This harsh truth, that every person has some unique sort of strengths, was conversely what was leading people's lives into unique directions as these people with their different strengths were faced with different challenges.

To Abraham, that much was clear, it was necessary to share these strengths in order to resolve challenges one alone could not face. Such was the form and fate of a good society.

Abraham understood well enough that equality was an utopian dream that could very well exist, but only on the papers of some educated men who enjoyed thinking around the matter.

His eyes found focus on the beer, and with a small shake of his head he emptied the jug. As he placed it back on the table before him, he saw a handful of Prussian officers in full regalia entering the quayside pub.

"Should get out of here," he muttered quietly to himself. Abraham knew himself well enough to understand that his drunken mind would be tempted by anything to let go and attack these Prussians.

And the reason for such behavior was simple enough to conjure too. Since within the German Realm magicals would never have an equal footing with the muggles, not for as long as the Prussians held the reign of the Realm within their hands.

There was hope, still. The anarchists were on the right track. A little regicide here, a bomb there. Perhaps the situation would resolve itself for the better.

His gaze went down to the white skin of fingers pressing down onto the rotting table. "Should get out of here," he repeated a bit too loud as if to convince himself. But then his body betrayed his conviction to stay away from fights, to leave them to others, and his eyes went to glance at the wand sticking out from underneath his jacket.

Daring thoughts of gripping the wood, of unleashing a few spells at these Prussians came to him and Abraham was tempted to give in.

Meanwhile the aged publican bustled through the room. As he saw Abraham having finished his beer, he walked over, snatched the jug from Abraham's table and with a tired mien he grunted, "Want some more? Or are you out of coin? Well, then get! Out with you!"

Jostled from his thoughts, Abraham got up without further ideas of starting a fight. He was much too drunk, even if it was only a couple of muggles.

A few moments later he stood outside, staring at the strung together sailing ships lying in wait for their cargo.

* * *

Gellert and his Täubchen appeared with a soft crackling sound on the cobbled road alongside Hamburg's harbour.

Not wasting any time, Gellert glanced left and right, past the rows of sailing ships, past the orderly planted trees, past the people busy with their work. When he couldn't spot any Prussians, he let go of Täubchen's shoulder and grabbed his suitcase.

"Come, Täubchen. We shall find ourselves passage on a ship."

"You want to leave the Realm?" She seemed startled by that announcement, all the former hesitation to speak, the shyness driven from her body and mind. Breathing fire might do that to one.

"Indeed," Gellert replied curtly. His eyes darted left and right, searching for the harbour's office.

"What a coincidence! Herr Grindelwald!"

Gellert stopped in his tracks. He knew that voice. "Charms Warden Kiebert," he replied as he turned towards where the voice had come from. He spotted the man and right away he saw the state he was. "Are you drunk, man?"

"No 'Charms Warden'," the drunken Kiebert replied with a look of utter defeat on his face, "Just 'Kiebert'."

Ah, Gellert thought. The old Rasmussen must have done him in since he couldn't get his hands on the true culprit.

Gellert glanced towards the grey form of his companion. "Come Täubchen. Let us help a fellow wizard, shall we?"

The girl nodded her compliance quite eagerly upon hearing that the man indeed too was a magical. She hurried to follow Gellert's quick steps. All her the thoughts of her mother's fate and the fight already forgotten.

"Get a grip, Herr Kiebert!" Gellert ordered him as he gripped the man's arm and roughly manoeuvred him towards the houses, away from the harbour basin. "Have care how you present yourself in the public, man!"

Hairs wildly clinging to his face's damp skin, and a smell right out of the pigsty did nothing to convince the man of the wrongness of his actions. Instead he wailed his disagreement, "What else but drinking am I to do? I've lost me work!" And he went on about how he'd done nothing in life but being the Charms Warden, how he had these tempting thoughts, however ill-begotten they were, how he thought of spitting on it all and letting loose and it grated on Gellert's sensitive ears.

Shoving Kiebert a bit too roughly at the wall to keep him upright, Gellert glanced at Täubchen. Addings things up, an idea formed in his head. "Have you thought of teaching, Herr Kiebert? Mayhaps you'd find some interest in filling the heads of young people?"

But Kiebert chose that moment to laugh out some slurred curse at the Emperor causing some people in the vicinity to turn their heads. But this was the harbour, and soon they went to mind their own once more.

Gellert went ahead, "Why, you could teach the muggleborn witches some proper magic. Just think how noble such activity would be!" He fixed his piercing gaze on the drunk man. "You could render assistance to the Cause while following your heart's profession!"

The girl, Täubchen, had craned her neck left and right upon seeing the harbour filled with life, but now that she had taken it in, she seemed more curious of the besotted man before them. She asked, "Do you know him, Herr Grindelwald?"

Gellert didn't turn his head, but he nodded his agreement. "This, my Täubchen, is the former Charms Warden, the Master of the Protections of Durmstrang. You remember Durmstrang, of course."

"Yes, I do." Täubchen said with an eager voice. Then she fell back into her quite unwomanlike behavior and snorted. "He's awfully smelly."

"So he is. Alas! I was the reason for him receiving the sack." Gellert's voice grew annoyed for just a moment before he managed to compose himself. "Come, Täubchen. Make yourself useful and get us a bottle Verpoorten from the pub."

The girl wrinkled her short stubby nose but accepted the small stack of coins and hurried towards the door.

Once she was out of range and view, Gellert grabbed Kiebert by the stacking swivel. "Get a grip man! Is this how a wizard comports himself?" He shoved the man back into the wall and grimaced once more at the smell that wafted towards his face. "I'll leave for the British Isles, tonight. I have need of your services, Kiebert!"

Unfocused eyes went from where they stared at the ground up to Gellert's face. "You have?"

Kiebert somehow managed to straighten up from where he was slumped against the wall. To Gelert though, it looked mighty unsteady. "What's the endeavor?" Suddenly Kiebert's eyes took on an eager glint. "Par le fait?"

Gellert waved his suggestion away without showing much a reaction. "While I can see the appeal with the ideas of these muggles it was not what I had in mind. No Kiebert. I want you to teach Täubchen, and any other muggleborn witches you can find for me." He then smirked briefly. "Though, this drunk pugnacity! You wear it well, good man. But anyhow. There's a storm coming, Kiebert and we ought to be prepared for picking up what the winds will scatter!"

Suddenly Kiebert flinched away. "You mean war?" He sounded almost fearful of the idea, all thoughts of pride forgotten. "You've mentioned it before."

"Perhaps," Gellert allowed. "Not for us though, not for a long time, Kiebert. Decades, I'd say." He turned to look towards the harbour basin. "Nevertheless. The right people must be prepared for when it is time to turn the tables on these weak Statute-loyalists clinging to their rotten ideals!"

He turned back to face Kiebert and said with a commanding tone in his voice, "But first, you must go to the Heinrichstraße and erase some traces that might be left pointing into her direction."

"You fought the Prussians again?"

Gellert gave a curt nod.

"But then... what about the Kapitulanten? They must be looking for tergiversators all over the place!"

Gellert raised a hand to stuff his wild blond hair behind his ears. "Are you a master with Charms, or not?" He stared expectantly at the man. "Then you ought to put your best foot forward! A little adventure, just for you, Kiebert. It should drive the alcohol right from your body."

Or at least the fear of having them hold his feet to the fire would do so. But Gellert was assured of Kiebert's skill.

"And the girl? She's not a spinster? Then she won't need much teaching," Kiebert concluded as well as his drunken mind allowed.

Gellert had no mind to correct him. They would learn about each other soon enough.

Just as he spoke Gellert's Täubchen dashed out of the quayside pub, a bottle of yellow liquid clutched to her chest. Her face was beet-red and her movement a bit too quick to seem natural.

Quickly, so as to use the last chance, Gellert said, "Make sure she's not with you when you go!" Then he turned to the girl. "Well done, my Täubchen! A full bottle, even! Good, good. There were no issues?"

"There were soldiers!" Täubchen said it hurriedly, making sure to put emphasis on the last word. "But I don't think they knew."

How could they knew already, Gellert wanted to point out, but he forwent the argument and accepted the bottle Verpoorten from the girl. "Fret not, Herr Kiebert has graciously offered his help on the matter. He shall take care of any issues."

"But he's drunk," the girl said with her finger pointing at Kiebert's grimy face.

"And still I am a proper wizard, girl. Mind your words! Just 'cause you've got some feather in your cap,-" Kiebert began to rant with a light slur, but Gellert cut him off, saying, "That'll be enough.- I need to leave on family matters tonight, Täubchen. You are to learn as much as you can from Herr Kiebert, until I return."

Though it was only half the truth, it struck home. Täubchen seemed oddly hurt by the announcement, as if Gellert had made some binding promise to keep her with him.

But Gellert ignored the look on her face by ending the argument before it could begin. He quenched these thoughts of companionship by saying, "You speak naught a word of English, Täubchen, and your witchcraft is far from reliable yet. You'd be a hindrance, nothing more. Take this chance to learn from a well-learnt wizard, a master with Charms. And you, Kiebert! The Heuberg by Rottenburg am Neckar, use the observatory there for your base."

As Gellert turned to leave for the harbour's office, he could hear Täubchen address the still quite drunk Kiebert asking, "And what now? Pull yourself together, or can't you stand?"

He almost felt pity for the poor man. Almost.

* * *

Once passage on the next ship to the British Isles had been secured, Gellert's next step was to seek out the Hamburg's Nöck, a very particular type of merperson, known to guard and dwell in all kinds of waters.

It was necessary, no matter how little Gellert wanted to get close to these creatures.

He had ingested the stolen tears of the Ekke Nekkepenn in one of his rituals; the merman, even if banned and secured by the Curse of Inge from Rantum, still was the ruler of the North Sea! - The whole ordeal of sailing over the sea was at risk if he were to set foot on the sailing ship without buying passage from the creatures dwelling within.

It would be a reluctant offering of peace and if the mood of the creature was to be foul, it would be costly too. But no matter the price, it was necessary, lest Gellert found himself joining the horde of drowned men that was lead at the night of the full moon by the Nöck.

He hated Inferi. And more so did he hate going by the board!

With a shudder at the thought Gellert marched up to the harbour's basin and kneeled down. A little bit of magic kept the muggles at bay, and once that was done, he stuck his wand's tip into the salt water.

Then he spoke the summon that too would protect him from the creature, "Neck, Neck, Nadeldieb, du bist im Wasser, ich bin am Land," and then he waited.

His thoughts drifted off as he stared into the murky waters of the harbour.

What people and events would await him once he set foot on the British Isles? Regarding the people, there was Miss Bagshot. She was the aunt of his mother. Gellert hadn't seen her before but the rumours went that it was quite hard to be around her. If there was a grain of truth to them, he would find out. The news of him having been expelled from Durmstrang could not have reached her yet. - And blood was blood. Gellert had to relay the news that Herr Johannes was gone, such was courtesy.

Regarding the events; well Gellert knew a few things he would enjoy to explore once the chance were to present itself.

There too was to consider the matter of the Prince Henry of Prussia having grown some backbone. However unlikely it was, the chance that he, as the younger brother of the Emperor could have used that relation to issue some sort of price for Gellert's head to the British was there. - Gellert knew not enough of the British and their monarchs to think differently. It was possible that Queen Victoria would rule and dictate the Magicals of Britain much like the Prince Henry of Prussia did.

A sudden sound of bubbles breaking the surface of the water before him pulled Gellert's focus back to reality.

"Hummel, Hummel," a wet, guttural and distinctively inhuman voice called from where Gellert's wand touched upon the water.

For a short moment Gellert found himself surprised at the greeting, but then he remembered the proper reply. "Mors, Mors," he said. And with that he pulled back his wand. A moment later a small head with deep blue scales and patches of green skin rose from the water.

"Since when do merfolk care for muggle greetings?"

The pearly glint of coppery teeth meant to grind bone and plants alike flashed for a brief moment at Gellert when the halfling-sized Nöck grinned in reaction.

"We watch and we listen - not much else to do at times when the sun stands high."

Not much to do? Well, for the local Nöck that was understandable. The ever increasing trade meant that the creatures of the sea kept to certain ranges of the North Sea. The harbour would be used for entertainment only, as chances of being spotted by the Prussian loyalist troops of the Prince Henry were quite high.

"What have you called me for, wizardling?"

Gellert hid a grimace at the rough sounds the small being spoke with. He answered quickly, "I ask you and your kin to grant me safe passage when I step upon my vessel."

A squeaking laugh exploded from the being, and with mirth it asked, "Have you angered the Sea?" Then, quite sorrowfully it added, " We don't attack ships near the Channel anymore. Too much troubles with the muggles and their warships."

The Nöck heaved itself a bit further out of the water, its claws easily finding purchase at the natural stones of the harbour wall. Floating dark clothes, rotten from their time under water clung to a bulky, muscular frame that, as told by reason and muggle biology, could not belong to such a small being. Indeed, it showed just how these small beings could have attacked and capsized ships of any size and nation. Such was their magic.

"I drank the tears of the Ekke Nekkepenn," admitted Gellert without preamble. He fixed his eyes on the Nöck so as not to miss even the smallest of all reactions to that admission.

Just as the words had been spoken, the Nöck trashed wildly through the water. As if commanded by the name of the merman alone it threw its head back; as if instinct was driving it, it trashed left and right, its muscular arms stirring the waters of the harbour within its reach to two small maelstroms of absurd ferocity. The creature seemed at strife but then it shot out of the water, one claw-like hand gripped to Gellert's right dolman sleeve in an attempt to pull him under waters.

Right away, before anything of terrible consequence could happen, invisible hands seemed to pull it back, away from the unblinking Gellert, until it was submerged in the water again.

"You fool!" The creature spat with a dangerous tone.

Gellert smiled harshly, all teeth and no mirth dancing in his eyes. "The spell has been spoken. Have care how you act." Then he leaned back and let his eyes wander for just a short moment. "A fool is someone who's acting without care, without thinking. I merely did what was necessary, and not without considering all my options." His eyes snapped back to the Nöck's own black pair of fisheyes. "Now, what's the price for my safety?"

A shrewd look crossed the Nöck's angered face, and with a sharp undertone it asked, "You could have rolled the Sea without asking for safety, so as long as you'd have shielded yourself against us. Why put yourself at risk, wizardling?"

Gellert shrugged carelessly at that. "The man that raised me told me to respect magical beings and their ways."

"And who might this man be? Rarely does anyone but lone fishermen care for the merfolk and their concerns!" The creature made a nasty grimace in resemblance of a grin. "You don't strike me the type to have grown riding the waters."

"Indeed, I was not. The Herr Johannes raised me."

A thoughtful nod acknowledged Gellert's words, and then the Nöck went on to say, "That would do it. The price then. Let me think of it." It leaned back into the waters, drifting languidly back and forth with the small waves from ships and boats passing by.

A few minutes of silence passed, only the sounds of the working people of the harbour, of the wind breathing past them, of the ships sailing close by filling the air. Then, with a start the silence snapped and the creature's eyes focused on Gellert. "Rheingold! That shall be the price for your safety, wizardling."

Gellert, in a lapse of control of his reaction had his jaw fall open. He composed himself quickly. "The Rheingold is real?"

Then the thought struck him: why shouldn't it be real? Any a muggle legend had its origin within the realm of magical history. Why ever not should the Rheingold be real too?

Fantastic ideas of the power hidden in the Nibelungenhort began to flood his mind. And then his thoughts went to Alberich's invisibility cloak! He wanted it, if only to see if it was the real cloak, the one he'd read of!

The Nöck leaned forward and in a quick motion swam towards the harbour wall, coming as close as the bespelled protection allowed. "Real enough. And risky to acquire too. It should be a worthy price, - it will be this or your firstborn! You have a year! Break this trust and the next waters you step in shall become your tomb!" And then it laughed a mad, dark laugh, as if to celebrate that it had gotten one over the wizardling in front of it.

"Rheingold it will be," said Gellert then with finality. He leaned down to the Nöck and extended his arm. With a quick motion the aquatic creature grabbed it and shook the proffered hand carefully.

The feeling of the scaly skin of the Nöck surprised Gellert. It was slimy, soft and rough at the same time, and underneath the scales some extreme heat radiated through the skin. It was a small reminder that these beings of the water too held control over some fire spells.

After a few seconds they seperated and Gellert made to stand up.

"Take heed, wizardling: your piacle's been revealed!"

A little bit startled by that almost gentle sounding warning, Gellert's hand moved to touch to his cheek, finding the Nöck was right; the self-transfiguration had worn out or perhaps been cancelled by the physical contact with the creature.

Pale, deep scars marked his face for all the world to see, and for a short moment Gellert felt like showing them off. He felt like showing the world what he was ready to give and to do for his vision of the world of morrow. But then reason won over and he set to recreate his public image.

* * *

His safety secured, Gellert's trip to the British Isles went as smoothly as one would imagine a seven day trip to go amidst the common muggle folk.

Instead of lamenting having to share what little space was available on the ship, Gellert had made a habit out of sitting on deck as a far away as possible from the muggle families, his head stuck firmly in the books of his grandfather.

He had never cared to hide away his use of magic before and here too he had little qualms to spell himself some protections from wind, spray water and the rain too. It felt like a little rebellion each and every time he went against what the Statute with its absurd rules decreed. And while certainly most people would call him and his behavior petty, Gellert himself saw it as testing the waters.

How did people react to his use of magic? How did they react when they, out of the corners of their eyes, would spot his wand, would get a glimpse of some spell's light, would see something fantastical happen?

How did muggles react to this? And how did wizards and witches react to the blatant disregard of their utmost-, most sacred law?

It was interesting, to say the least and it revealed much. Gellert had based a many of his decisions on these observations.

He had learned that to muggles plagued by some long-suffering illness, the wonders of magical healing were a blessing and welcomed more often than not. Only the rare cases of strict religious beliefs inhibited these people from asking for help. It was an absurd thing to Gellert, that one might lay their life into the hands of some invisible being. He, much like a recently deceased philosopher shared the conviction that there had ever been only one christian, and this one had died at the cross.

There too were the muggles from the cities, poor and alive only for the work they could offer their hands for. They cared little for the matters of magic so as long as it did not affect them. But did the chance present itself to better their lives, then it was welcomed, embraced even.

The learnt and rich muggles of the cities though, they believed not in magic but in their philosophies, their chemistry and physics, their biology and their mathematics. There was no love lost between them and magic and at best, the most curious of them would ask for a repeat of the feat to find some better understanding only to dismiss it all as charlatanry and legerdemain.

The old muggles, no matter if rich or poor,- if entirely bereft of the hope of philosophies, theologies or other things that befuddle the mind,- they were against magic because of their contumacy and pertinacity.

And then there too were the different personalities in each and every single muggle one had to consider when confronting them with the reality of magic.

Indeed, this all alone, this complex matter of the muggles was entirely too much to bethink when planning for a better future.

If Gellert were to add the magical creatures, the witches and wizards too, to these things he had to consider, - he would never find purchase with his actions.

Not all could be shown the errors of their ways. The attempt alone - all of it would be wasted efforts. A fight against the tempesting winds, jousting at wandering clouds, stabbing at waves. It all was of little use when fighting against nature.

Indeed. Gellert needed help. More help than Abraham Kiebert with his genteel knowledge of Charms, or Täubchen with her eager-, and willingness could offer. Yes! Even if the two of them could procure some more muggleborn witches, they too would be lacking. He needed more!

* * *

Godric's Hollow, was different from the small villages of the German Realm and it was different from what Gellert had expected to see.

What confused him most was that there was a church. But as he walked through the high street, he quickly found that there too lived muggles here.

Gellert was all too ready to take umbrage at what he saw but after travelling for a week on a ship and then by the fly for another day until he finally reached this small community, he found he could spare himself these thoughts for another day or two.

It didn't take long for him to find the cottage of his last living kin.

The half-timbered house, a cottage at best, was looking clean and well-cared from the outside. It's small windows were filled with uneven but crystal clear glass and small flower boxes were adorned to the wall, hanging from short iron chains here and there. It spoke of a certain wealth, to be sure and it was entirely out of place, considering the other, dirty houses.

As Gellert came close enough to see through the windows, he too took note of the fact that no protections, neither charms nor claims of blood laid on the parcel of land on which the house stood.

"Good day," said a plummy voice from somewhere to the left of where Gellert stood. "Who might you be? Are you lost? Well it happens. I got lost on my own quite a bit before I settled in."

Gellert replied with haste, so as not to seem too unfriendly, "Good day!" But he didn't smile his disarming smile. Smiling was a weapon of choice for him; it was reserved for certain moments of importance. He went on to say, "I am not lost, but I thank you all the same for asking. Indeed, I was just on my way to approach your door." He, with quick steps, walked around the corner of the house and was met face to face with a proper British lady. "Miss Bathilda Bagshot, I presume?"

The Miss Bathilda Bagshot didn't acknowledge his question beyond making a small sound in her throat. She eyed him for a few short moments, her eyes not once but often glancing at Gellert's mismatched blue and black pair, before her face shifted from guarded to curious.

"Yours is a German accent, is it not? Wonderful! You people from the continent have the most interesting insight into historical events." She was about to turn around and wave him inside when she halted in her movement and with furrowed brows marring her face, she asked, "You are Gellert Grindelwald?"

"Quite so!" Gellert said and stood at attention as was proper. He bowed out of courtesy and straightened up. "I have come to visit you bearing news. Perhaps we should adjourn inside and talk matters over?"

"Yes. Indeed. We wouldn't want some nosy people to overhear. Come inside. And do mind your boots!"

Gellert did mind his boots. A quick motion of his wand had them spelled clean. He then followed behind into the homely furnished cottage.

Sure enough, the house had seen better days, but the inside was as clean as the outside suggested and a new tapestry was hiding away the cold and ugly cob walls.

Before him, Miss Bagshot - his great-aunt, set about summoning forth a proper set of china.

She was well-practiced with her wand, it seemed and very soon steam was rising up from two bone-white cups.

"Do take a seat," she more or less ordered and vaguely pointed her wand towards a small table. "How do you drink your tea? Frisian? English? Or are you like your mother, drinking it cold and with some Schnaps in it?" She trailed off, but not without muttering a few words under her breath.

Gellert ignored the words about the dead, and replied, "Frisian will be fine, Miss Bagshot. But before that. I do have a present for you."

"Oh? A present?"

"Yes. It is only right to bring a present when meeting family for the first time, is it not? So I went and purchased something." Gellert quickly opened his suitcase and pulled out of its expanded depths the bottle of Verpoorten. "I hope you will find it to your liking."

She accepted the present and turned the bottle left and right to get a better look of its content and the labels on it. "It does look delicious. Thank you, I shall sample it once we are done here." She put the bottle down on the table and turned her rather strict gaze on Gellert. "Now! What's the news of which you spoke, Mr. Grindelwald? Oh and do help yourself." She gestured towards the rock sugar and a pot of cream.

"Thank you," Gellert replied and quickly he guided his wand to add some rock sugar to the steaming hot tea. "There's no need to delay this: the Herr Johannes has joined the earth."

Which, of course was as Gellert preferred it, just a facet of the truth. It was neither his place nor in his interest to inform the people of what exactly the full truth was or meant to be.

"Well," Miss Bagshot said rather blithely, "he was quite old, wasn't he?" Upon seeing Gellert give a small nod of confirmation she continued to say, "And the matter of the burial has been taken care of?" Miss Bagshot picked up her cup and sipped on her tea while waiting for Gellert to reply.

"Ah, yes. The Fengg was ordered to take care of matters."

Miss Bagshot gave a curt nod of acknowledgement and went on to say, "Then, so it seems, life continues!" She smiled a thin smile and with that the matter of the news was done with. "But how curious. You don't have house-elves in the Realm?" Her voice held a certain curious quality to it and if they were known to each other any better, he would imagine she would have pulled out some papers to take notes of what he was going to reply.

"No, indeed not," Gellert replied, his eyes moving to take in the details of the room as he worked his brain to remember the details of his history lessons. "The druids that lived long before wizardkind spread throughout Europe have lived in coexistence with all magical beings. Throughout the centuries this attitude has established a tradition of avoiding the matters of exploitage of magical beings." But he then continued to concede, "Though this attitude is on the retreat since the Prussians have taken rule."

Miss Bagshot accepted this with with a thoughtful nod, and she enquiried further, "But you mentioned the Fengg. It is a subservient creature, isn't it?"

Gellert remembered Hudl, the old-as-stone Fengg that had always been there, taking care of the house and the livestock. "The Fengg is a naturally helpful creature. We call it a spirit because the Fengg exists only where there are people in need. They live with us, help us, and we in turn provide them with a reason to exist."

The conversation of the two went on and when the tea turned cold, Miss Bagshot invited Gellert to stay for as long as he wished with the condition that he was to call her 'Aunt Bathilda', and she in turn would call him 'nephew' or 'Gellert'.

* * *

Weeks went by and then, one early morning Gellert was called away from his books to join his aunt in the kitchen.

"'Cauldron Cakes'?" Gellert asked this with the most incredulous expression he had permitted himself to wear in years. He hardly was one to let emotive expressions get the better of his control, but here and now, he was all too happy to express himself as the situation demanded.

Aunt Bathilda was different from what Gellert had expected, truth be told. She was neither hard to be around nor overly matronly like he had expected a woman of her age to be.

Instead there was a sharp wit with her which she used to observe, cut and dice into the mind of anyone daring to challenge her and her knowledge of history. She enjoyed her books and she too enjoyed baking, and for the most of the time she left Gellert to his own accords.

To Gellert, someone who was neither used to matrons nor interested in having a caretaker, the woman was a blessing. As was her collection of books and her knowledge of history, for that matter.

And so he repeated his question once more, and this time he was polite with it, "Are they truly baked in cauldrons?"

"Certainly, Gellert. And they are quite delicious too. I have not told you before," said Aunt Bathilda with a serious lightheartedness that marked her words as of importance, "but there is another young man around your age. He has just returned from Hogwarts the day before! I say, you are stuck day-in and day-out with your nose in books, and while I too appreciate my history just as much, you, my dear nephew, are a young man! Do what lads do!"

Gellert stared blankly at her for a few short moments before he allowed himself to reply, "While I do must thank you for caring about me, Aunt Bathilda, I do enjoy my books more than playing about like some child. - I have research to do!"

Aunt Bathilda with her wand in hand turned upon hearing that and with a brusk gesture of her hand she washed away his words. "I care little for what you are reading, nephew. But the lad I spoke of is just as clever as you are and he's in dire need of having a friend." She then muttered a few words under her breath, and continued to say, "Why, since the mother died he's been taking care of his brother and his sister by publishing articles about trans-species transfiguration in Transfiguration Today."

While Gellert felt no sympathy, he could respect such a man. Indeed he found himself a bit intrigued. So he relented.

"I understand," said Gellert then to end this little discussion. "I shall be on my best behavior then, and I shall present them your so called 'Cauldron Cakes', Aunt Bathilda."

With a thin smile his aunt nodded quite satisfied with her work and a few motions of her wand prepared the last batch of baked goods for delivery. "You do that, nephew. And perhaps you'll find yourself losing your smart attitude on the way back?"

"Yes, Aunt Bathilda." Gellert said this with an honest smile that disappeared just as quickly as it had come. And in the next words his aunt spoke, he could hear her own amusement.

"Good lad. The future comes slowly, the present flies and the past stands still forever, and as such your books will be there when you return. Now off with you to have some fun."

Forgetting the necessity of packing away the books of which he had been reading every single one, Gellert felt that endeavouring to make a quick exit from his aunt's cottage was a good idea. Even if it only meant to get away from the sickly sweet smell of the kitchen he had been standing in.

And so, not quite five minutes later, wickerbasket filled to the brim with these absurd cakes, Gellert made his way through the misty village.

The smell of the warm cakes wafted every few steps into Gellert's face, and after walking up half the road he could with certainty tell that he would never find it in himself to taste these sweet monstrosities.

Some regret welled up within him as he neared the village's burial ground. He had already stayed much longer at the house of his aunt than he had planned to. And then, as propelled by some invisible force Gellert's thoughts went all over the place.

Some moments they were with what Kiebert and Täubchen were doing, and then he was thinking of his visions. Some other moments he thought of the books he'd been reading, and next all he could think of again was the disgustingly sweet smell of the cakes.

"Why won't you show me something," a voice suddenly exclaimed quite angrily. Then the sound of skin and flesh smacking on a flat surface resounded with a short-lived echo.

Shaken out of his thoughts, Gellert turned his head in search of the source. He had to walk a few more steps before he could spot a young man, hidden behind a few short hedges, kneel before a murky crystal globe. His hands were pressed to the surface and his head, blond and auburn locks cast downward.

Gellert, driven by nothing more but a whim walked over, and with clear mirth in his voice he called out his convincement, "Spheromancy is practiced humbug!"

The young man's head snapped towards Gellert, and with frustration he replied, "Yes! Yes! Damn it all, yes! It's utterly useless!" He stood up and with a concentrated look, a muttered word and a snap of his fingers he summoned the crystal globe to his hands.

"Impressive," praised Gellert quite honestly. He went on to ask, "What were you trying to divine? If I may be so bold to ask." He was, after all, quite well-versed with the various practices one could employ to see what was hidden.

"Nothing of importance," came the reply. "It was curiosity, nothing more. I'm afraid I simply have no talent for the matter of divination."

Gellert accepted the excuse for what it was. "I do have some talent. Would you like to try me?"

The young man walked closer with a bit of red to his cheeks, and as he spotted the wickerbasket, his face lit up with a smile. "Are those Cauldron Cakes?"

The interested expression on Gellert's face shifted to disgust for a brief moment. It passed just as quickly, but the impression had been made. "They indeed are. I was ordered to deliver them on behalf of my aunt."

Surprised, the young man raised both his eyebrows and swiftly he asked, "Your aunt is the good Miss Bagshot?"

Gellert, in a burst of adolescent ostentatiousness sent the basket to levitate without uttering a world or abusing gesture or wand alike. He smirked at the wide-eyed look he received and bowed out of courtesy. "Gellert Grindelwald," he introduced himself. As he straightened up, he continued to ask, "Are you then the young prodigy I was told of?"

"Impressive," the young man replied with wide eyes. Then he smiled, and he bowed low and just as swiftly as Gellert had done, and he said, "Albus Dumbledore, a pleasure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verpoorten - Germany's most famous egg liqueur. It's production started in the middle of the 19th century.
> 
> Heuberg by Rottenburg am Neckar - another rather famous Hexenberg (witch mountain) in Germany
> 
> Nöck - translates to 'Water Sprite'. A water spirit living in all kinds of waters, protecting them. Though there too are stories in which they would drown people, leading an army of drowned men at the night of the full moon.
> 
> Neck, Neck, Nadeldieb, du bist im Wasser, ich bin am Land - is one half of a German rhyme meant to protect the speaker from getting drowned by the Nöck.
> 
> Hummel, Hummel / Mors, Mors - Is a traditional greeting in Hamburg. It's been around since the early 19th century. It goes back to a water-carrier, who was called "Hummel" as an insult. He replied "Mors, Mors" which translates to "Kiss my ass".
> 
> Rheingold - Either part of the Nibelung Hort / Rhine Treasure from the Song of the Nibelungs, or gold harvested from the Rhine (which due to its rarity has quite the value)
> 
> Nibelungenhort - Nibelung Hort / Nibelung Treasure
> 
> Alberich - a dwarf from the Song of the Nibelungs, who was famous for his near perfect invisibility cap/cloak.


	6. Chapter 6

"You wish me to look into your eyes, thusly allowing you to divine my personal future?" Albus asked again, his voice a bit hesitant and his eyes averted from the piercing gaze of one Gellert Grindelwald.

"Oh don't be a squib Albus," commented his younger brother, Aberforth from up the gentle hill where he made to sit down on the ground before the Dumbledore cottage. In both his hands he held a couple of the many worn books Albus had used before. Aberforth, no matter how unwilling he did so, was known to prepare diligently for the upcoming year at Hogwarts.

Albus ignored his brother's comment with practiced ease. He was not averse to looking into Gellert's eyes per se. Quite so, he rather enjoyed watching Gellert's eyes dart left and right, taking in all the little things that lay about, - how they categorized everything with short and precise movements. Even the piercing stare of him, where he would look at Albus as if he could look right through him, see every thought, every idea, just short of everything about him, - even this cold and calculating gaze he found interesting.

So no, he was truly not averse to having eye contact; what had him question this requirement for eye contact was the little fact that he was still a novice at controlling his rudimentary understanding of the recently learned arts of  _Legilimency_  and for shame, he too felt some fear crawl up the small of his back.

For what was this putative future Gellert might come to see but dangerous hope? Trust in such a divined future would be a treacherous friend. It was ill advised, but still!

What if Albus would want it to be true? After all the little failures; the attack on Ariana, the incarceration of his father, the death of his mother,- after all these harsh reminders of life being full of disappointments, he would want to endear himself to this friend, and yet when this friend would strike him, would harm him, would turn out to be something different than the promised future, something which he might not have been expecting - it perhaps would hurt all the more because he would have come to spend all his life's moments to work towards this, and it would not be what he wanted.

And still, the small voice in the back of his mind lingered. It kept up its whisper, it kept up filling his head with these hypothetical questions, it kept up rolling ideas like waves through his mind, and it was tantalizing and daring and altogether wrong and still! What if?

With a certain amount of inappropriate amusement, or so it seemed to Albus, Gellert replied, "Certainly! How else am I to present proof of the validity of Oculomancy, dear Albus?"

Aberforth chose that moment to mimic the sound of gagging.

While Albus usually wouldn't mind his brother's little remarks, this time he had no mind for it.

So he swiftly pointed his wand and sent the boy packing.

A well-deserved and inappropriately aimed spell later, Aberforth jumped up, his book pressed tightly to his chest. His face shifted through a range of expressions before he settled on indignation. He shifted the book and quickly presented two fingers just to show Albus how much he had enjoyed this.

Albus smiled broadly at that, and with a frustrated grunt Aberforth turned around and stalked back into the house.

"So," Gellert said as Albus turned back to face him. "Are you afraid of what I might find myself seeing, dear Albus?"

For a short moment Albus Dumbledore found himself mocked by the small reflection he could see of himself in Gellert's eyes, he found himself mocked by the taunting truth in Gellert's voice. He blinked and when he looked again, all he could see was the interest on the face of his friend. "What man can pretend to know the riddle that is the future?" He retorted, but his face fell quickly. "But yes, maybe I am."

Gellert leaned forward, a hand of his quickly finding a grip on Albus' arm. He squeezed the arm almost gently and said, "You oughtn't be afraid of some future I divine, dear Albus." He sought out Albus eyes and when they looked at each other, gazing unblinkingly into each other's eyes for the shortest of moments, he smiled equally briefly. "You see this future, be it fantastically sweet, conceivable good or unimaginable strange, be it dark and full of death, or as wonderful as the shine of the sun at an early morning, - this future, dear Albus, is not yet here. This future is not set in stone. You'll come to see divination as some sort of dangerous thing, if you make yourself to wield this fear of the future as a shield and sword. It would limit your potential, Albus, and we both know you are to become great."

With a roll of his eyes, Albus conceded, "Yes, yes. I too am aware of these things." And with a slightly more happy expression he continued, "I fully understand the theory that, in some measure, divined futures are just representing transitory possibilities."

"And still you are afraid? Is it really fear?" Gellert asked this quietly, speaking mostly to himself and then, with a small start he seemed to have figured Albus out, "Is it then that you are afraid of what you cannot prepare yourself for? Maybe. Or are you shivering with anticipation rather than fear?"

"It's quite human of me, I must admit." He sounded oddly disappointed as he spoke. As if labouring under the human limitations was such a burden. "Rarely do I feel such antithetic emotions to my thoughts." Albus sighed defeatedly. "Must emotions be so confusing?"

Upon hearing that, in a quick motion Gellert stood up, holding his hand for Albus to pull himself up as well.

"Whether be it your fears, Albus, or the bittersweet foretaste of what is to come, - we shall meet either of it head-on! We shall slay these fears, and we shall court the future too, for what and who can stand against us - our both magicks?" Gellert laughed and Albus suddenly noticed himself smiling. The smile grew as he began to imagine himself and Gellert, side by side in fights of epic measure, defeating anything, anyone they might encounter.

"'Gellert the Gallant' and 'Albus the Astute'," Albus said and laughed, "what ghoulish fiends can then stand against us?"

"Bah!" Gellert drew his wand and flicked it towards his suitcase and the books that lay about, making them fly up and twist in the air until one after another they sailed into the open suitcase, disappearing in its endless depth. "I say, it should be 'Gilt-edged Gellert' and 'Amiable Albus'!" The suitcase sailed into his hand and with a small gesture towards where the graveyard lay, Gellert said, "Together we can accomplish anything, Albus!"

Albus, quite involuntarily smiled upon hearing that for he too thought the same. He remembered the night half a week ago, where he had led Gellert to the graveyard to show him the Peverell grave.

He remembered how Gellert's finger had traced the engraved symbol on the old sepulchral stone. He remembered how Gellert had told him that he had burnt this symbol into his mind, had made it his only purpose for weeks, how he had read books upon books on his quest to learn more about it.

And Albus remembered how Gellert had declared this encounter of them both to be fate.

These words had stirred something more within Albus and it had made his heart beat wildly and ever since it had kept to firing the heat into his face when he was near Gellert.

Gellert's voice shook Albus out of his memories.

"Only a difficult task can inspire the noble within us. You could join me for my quest to see if  _Alberich_ 's cloak is not in truth the Cloak of Death."

Albus could spot his brother from where he lurked in the shades of the house, and suddenly some feeling of dread, something very difficult to describe, something heavy and cold and something very uneasy lay in his guts. And as Gellert continued to speak, Albus somehow realised that something bad was going to happen very soon and he thought then if this maybe was how Gellert felt and saw the future with its possibilities.

And despite this feeling that dragged his heart and soul into some invisible pit below his feet, he spoke without spending some moments to think as he agreed readily to join this young man before him, this one person he had shared more with than with anyone else before.

On top of the world, or in the depths of despair, Albus chose to walk tall.

* * *

The summer of 1899 had went by in a daze for Gellert.

Everything from his first encounter with Albus up to this point, where he now stood with his wand pointed at the writhing body of one Aberforth Dumbledore, the Cruciatus Curse still fresh on his lips, - all of it had went by far too quickly, now that he thought of it.

There were many things that stood out within this moment to Gellert; the sun shining down on him, as if to mark him as the leading actor on a stage, or maybe the broken windows of the house before them with their half-molten glass shards still sticking outwards from the frame, or perhaps the scorched earth near the house with small ashlike grass leafs looking quite like a day of snowfall near the coal mine, or quite ordinary as it was, the muted cackling of an alarmed flock of goslings attempting to flee through the small gap of the garden's fence.

Yes, there were a few things standing out in this moment, but the first and most important of all these things was invisible to anyone but Gellert himself; he felt nothing as he stared down at the twitching and shivering body, writhing away from him and his wand, and he felt nothing as his eyes swept up to see shocked Albus' wand moving upwards, hesitantly, almost as if slowed in time.

He felt nothing as the realisation dawned upon him that this now was the end of the summer of 1899, that this now was the end of their friendship, of their moments together.

It all seemed like a fever dream coming to an end with its dastardly heat muddling his senses. A dream that had stretched thin to cover his memories like a blanket.

Everything was out of focus, unimportant and adhering to some strange, outlandish idea Gellert could not remember himself thinking.

Gellert felt nothing for moments still but the curious wonder at his own action, for he thought these supposedly  _Unforgivables_  to be limiting. He could not explain why he had cast this spell. It didn't make sense to him, and it seemed so completely out of character, and yet, the evidence was there, before him.

One moment Albus and he - they had been talking of the the demystification of the Statute and its rules as the central element, the key to raising their magical brothers and sisters to this revolution, and then, suddenly fire had exploded outwards of the Dumbledore's house and Aberforth had stormed out of it and some unexplainable rage had overtaken Gellert's mind.

It had not been much of a fight, and yet here before him lay the result, exposing Gellert's failure to the world.

But why? Gellert knew himself better than this! He knew himself to be not one to labour under emotions like a mule under its yoke, - so how had this emotional act taken place then?

"The truth may be stretched thin, but it never breaks, and it always surfaces above lies, as oil floats on water, and of similar nature you can perceive the future and everything you can see within the sphere of your divination," his grandfather, the Herr Johannes had told him once, and Gellert had always relied on this steadfast knowledge that the future would stay true, would stand out from all the false futures, the possibilities of which divination was filled with.

Yet, here now, the future he had expected had changed into a present he was not prepared for.

As well as all of life's affairs remain in a circular course, the future too was ever changing and not fixed within one state. Believing differently seemed a vain presumption. Indeed, much like the summer is preceded by spring, autumn by summer, winter by autumn, and there again, spring by winter, so too does one event follow the next, marking with its consequences yet again a change in the firmament of distant possibilities that is the future.

That he understood. But how and when had he taken to see what he wished to see instead of what was true?

Gellert didn't know and with a start he felt the three lot weighing wand in his hand suddenly heavy like a cast-iron cauldron. It felt like an anchor made of stone, meant to keep him from defending himself against whatever spell Albus was intending to cast at him.

It seemed like a test of his determination. A test to see if he could move against this fever dream's character, Gellert's supposed best friend with whom he had shared all his dark secrets bar one.

All he would need was to find this resolve with its nightmarish gravitas to raise his heavy arm, to slay these thoughts that kept him anchored to this present in which he still had a friend, to return onto the path of the one true future he was seeking to build.

Much like Hildebrand had to steel the resolve of Dietrich von Bern to fight against Siegfried of whom was said that no man then living or ever after would be born equal to him in neither strength, courage courtesy, boldness and generosity, Gellert had to overcome this false reality binding his arm with its weight.

But this moment's time didn't wait for Gellert to find what his thoughts thought him missing, and quickly jets of light flung from Albus' wand hurled Gellert's shivery body down to the ground next to where Aberforth lay breathing shallowly.

Gellert's suitcase ripped open and all the hundred things he kept with himself most of the time exploded outwards as the magic was torn from the Mokeskin leather. They flew everywhere, left and right, filling the scarce grass all around him as the epicentre.

The sensation of the hard ground biting at the bare skin of his exposed wrists, hands and feet and the impact itself did not matter just there and then for Gellert; the little pain he felt would fade like it always did. But that didn't mean that the spells have not had any effect.

Quickly, in rhythm with the beating of Gellert's heart, did Albus' magic shave away in recurrent pulses at the transfiguration that hitherto had hidden away the scars.

Had Albus intended for it to happen? Again, Gellert didn't know, and he didn't care, for it had happened and there was no chance to keep time from moving forward. But doubt, like any treachery was quick to spread from its small seed.

As he lay there on the ground, feeling the cold of the earth seep through the clothes into his flesh and bones, he repeated a thoroughly straight-forward question to himself again and again and again: Why? Why ever had he wasted this summer here in Godric's Hollow?

Otiose words echoed through his head: You do what you are and you become what you do.

And Gellert could not stop himself from thinking ill of himself for thinking these platitudes.

And with these ill-feelings towards himself he returned to the question that kept him down, stuck to earth, that had his arm and hand feel as heavy as lead with the mighty wand in it like a discarded and used quill.

Why?

He was Gellert Grindelwald, a man with a purpose, a man whose personal fate was much like responsibility's center of gravity not with himself but with what he knew of the future he aspired to create.

And then he thought the word that turned sour in his mouth.

Utopia.

The dream of which he had shared a many moments with Albus.

Suddenly the fever dream's blanket lifted from his mind, at least in a part, and Gellert remembered some day's late evening at which he and Albus had spoken of this and that and Gellert had confided to him his dream, this vision of his - this sour tasting Utopia.

Back then it had tasted like a forbidden fruit, sweet and rich like fresh honey to speak to someone who shared his enthusiasm, who was all too eager to dream on his own of this idea. To have found someone with whom he could conquer this vision, dream this dream, build this reality - it had Gellert inebriated in ways his mind and body had never known before.

But did he not in truth despise sweetness?

And with that Gellert rolled against the pain and the strain and against the spell's effects binding him stiff onto his back, and with a start did he feel the piercing light of the sun dazzle his eyes.

Above him stood Albus Dumbledore, wet trails of tears staining his cheeks, and as Gellert's eyes became used to the light their gazes met.

Where what Gellert remembered felt strange, as if it had happened to a different person, not him, someone else wearing his skin, his eyes,- someone acting the way they thought Gellert might act like, this now too felt all too strange and all kinds of wrong.

"What are you crying for," Gellert wanted to ask, but it would come out unkind and wrong and despite these feelings of emptiness within himself he did not want to cause undue pain to this one person before him and so he kept staring up into these icy blue eyes that wanted to be warm, that visibly ached with the reality of what was happening. Regret too shone within them. Some more tears welled up from their depths after a few more moments of staring into each other's souls.

From somewhere Gellert heard ravens bark their mad laughter at him, his state or maybe just something else entirely, and for no reason but some queer afflatus, Gellert closed his eyes.

Utopia, he thought, Utopia, Utopia, Utopia.

With every repeat of the word the taste in his mouth grew less pungent.

To everyone else, it was an undreamable dream, of life lived without bearing unbearable sorrow over a wretched, starved and war-torn world of morrow.

But to him, - for Utopia he would walk with fire and sword, wand and crown of horns towards the enemies of this dream. For Utopia he would floor these fools, drink blood from skulls, become martyr and parade himself before anyone willing to listen. For Utopia he would forgo reason, be proud and stupid, think himself brave and noble in the face of certain death. For Utopia he would do anything and more until his very last breath. For Utopia and with a smile he would bow to Death.

Still! Thinking of Utopia seemed indivisible from these memories in which Albus and he did things Gellert had never thought of before.

They flew around his mind like ghostly phantasmagoria, taunting him with their realness. They haunted him, for what he saw was wrong and did not fit in with what Gellert thought of himself, knew himself capable of, and it made him feel sick.

And again he asked himself why ever had he spent this summer here in Godric's Hollow?

Suddenly his eyes snapped open, just in time to see Albus kneeling before him while his hands attempted to pry open Gellert's tightly clenched fist. To no avail though. The wand was stuck just much as Gellert could not entice any movement out of his arm.

Soon he gave up and Gellert watched the strong back shift as Albus moved along to gently roll over his brother. He watched the young man check for pulse, for breath and he wondered if he himself had felt something outlandish as love for this compassionate man, for this was what he had seen, what he did not understand.

He watched some more and then, quite without any great dramatics, did he realise that, no, he felt nothing he knew the words for. Whatever had been, was done and gone and all that was left was Gellert feeling bereft of anything but some hollow feeling of emptiness that at best could be described as sodality.

"Why," Albus suddenly asked. "Why did you do this?"

Gellert could not say. He stared back unblinking, as if to convey just that. He knew nothing of his reasons himself. It was unexplainable!

Then their eyes met again and this time Gellert found that these blue eyes were piercing and cold and he felt a bit of dread crawl through his innards as he was forced to maintain the connection where before he had done so freely.

* * *

Legilimency was entirely too complex to find some simple phrase or word to describe it with, and indeed much like with any proper craft, to explain a student how the master did what he did would take far too many long-winded words and sentences and in the end the student would still not have grasped the concept in its entirety.

It seemed inconceivable to use this fine art to thread upon a path of lesser morals, and as such one of the only warnings Albus had ever read about the practice of delving into the minds of other humans was to never use Legilimency to seek justice in the heads of another human being, for all you would come to find would be propaganda to your eyes.

Indeed, here now, as Albus peered into these blue and black eyes, this warning seemed like a foretoken of this situation.

Under the aegis of madness something decidedly unknown gaped its black maw at Albus as he looked into into the vastness of Gellert's mind.

He saw what Gellert saw and thought and knew and then the connection broke and Albus felt dizzy, dirty and sick. He fell backwards, his hands instinctively digging into the damp earth to center himself, to stave off the onslaught of things he had seen.

It didn't help. Albus turned his head and heaved the gorge until he was as empty as Gellert's emotions had felt to him.

As he gasped in small breaths of fresh air, he pressed out the one question that penetrated all his thoughts, "Was everything a lie?"

Albus Dumbledore never had been one for a dissolute lifestyle. He had been studious, proper - an example for others even. But this short summer with Gellert Grindelwald, it had turned his head.

Early on, every single day, these visits of Gellert had become his sole and obvious delight. He had not cared what would come off this all when he had met him for the first time, and he had cared little to hide it from the yokels of Godric's Hollow, or from his brother for that matter.

Though Aberforth had taken to pursue them quite often as if to watch what dangers Albus would throw himself at, as if to collect evidence to hold against him and indeed just that he had done.

But Albus was no coward. He had met his brother's attitude head-on and he had rebuked him in favor of Gellert.

In hindsight, maybe he should have listened.

But to him and in his defense, Gellert hadn't had the qualities of some ethereal creature of monstrous ignobleness.

To leave all of it behind what before had shackled him, pinned him down, this idea had tempted Albus, had goaded him and it had allured him to think that he would be with Gellert, far away from the obligations, the guilt, and everything else society had inoculated him with.

It had excited him to think of all the forbidden things they would do, and he had excused it all with his intention to collect this one token of Death, this Resurrection Stone - for his family's sake.

This -, so he had told himself for peace of mind, did not make him different from any other adolescent young man with the fantastic powers of magic to do their bidding, with their eagerness to set out and see the world and do what men did.

But now, Albus had to concede that indeed almost any a first passion lasts nary a moment and once it was done all left would be a bitter taste of bile.

"Answer me Gellert!" Albus demanded. His body felt shivery as the potent set of emotions, anger and fear and some more battled for dominance within him.

What if all of it had been a lie?

Merely thinking this question alone drove him to feel lightheaded.

He clambered to his feet, swaying just a little left and right before he managed to steady himself. Immediately he pointed his wand at Gellert while his eyes darted back and forth between his brother and the man he'd thought - hoped his lover.

"Aberforth? Aberforth! Can you get up?"

A groan was his reply but Aberforth, baulky and stubborn as a goat as he was, managed and despite the visible pain and the trembling of his limbs, slowly he got up.

Meanwhile Gellert's eyes were still transfixed on Albus, following his every movement. He seemed watchful but anything beyond that Albus could only speculate after having seen what was inside his head.

Albus' eyes were dragged to their cottage, and before even the realisation of what must have happened could sink in, his brother spoke up.

"Spare me your pity, brother!" Aberforth spat out as he regained some posture. Quickly the worn expression on his face was replaced by a mask of rage. "Why would you care, huh?" He spat to the ground revealing a set of bloody teeth as he grimaced, and the grimace turned dark as he continued, "All summer you've trolloped around, - left me and

our sister to fend for ourselves, and now suddenly you care?"

Just as Albus began to open his mouth to deny and do away with this accusation, no matter how righteous Aberforth's anger was, Gellert spoke up and he said, "Did you not see the truth, Albus?" One pale finger tipped to his temple. "I think you saw it all. You ought to know your answer."

"Stow it!" Aberforth snarled at him. And after a few heartbeats of silence Aberforth then finally seemed to take note of the scars upon Gellert's face. His eyes widened and quickly, despite the rather violent trembling of his arms he managed to procure his wand from wherever he kept it. He pointed it at Gellert, the tip glowing ominously. "Can't decide if I should call the Aurors or have at you m'self! Dark Wizard!"

"Dauntless Dumbledore," Gellert taunted with a laugh from where he lay, and Albus' heart ached just a little more upon hearing him speak with such delight in mockery. Still, he looked quite deranged with his scars and that helped along to keep Albus' mind off it. "Have at me then,- show me what a wizard you are," Gellert continued and he shrugged his left shoulder carelessly as he kept his eyes fixed on Albus.

"Don't do this brother," warned Albus. "Don't start anything Aberforth!" He could not let this escalate any further. Already there was too much at stake.

"Why? The Cruciatus not a good enough reason?" Aberforth said with a growl while red heat was climbing up his face. "Am I not good enough to fight him? Can only proper Albus protect us? - And me starting this? Fuck you, Albus! Your head's stuck in his arse all the way up!"

Albus gave him a sad little smile, the one he reserved for family, but here and now this smile must have seemed more like a taunting grimace to Aberforth for right away the wand in his hand moved in a fluid motion towards Albus and with it a jet of light was let loose.

It seemed like a fleeting moment of despair when Albus realised that his brother indeed was attacking him without reservations, but quickly all his learnt knowledge flooded his mind and the practice of which he had put hours upon himself enabled him to overcome this small shock, and he defended himself a proper.

Albus' wand curved through the air in one quick motion, and just as quickly a thin dome of translucent light intercepted the spell short a meter from his face.

Right away Aberforth took this act of defense to throw himself further into his state of rage and, so as to let loose the only way he knew of, spells, one after another, were flung from his wand at Albus and Gellert alike.

For a short moment Albus feared for Gellert's safety, but this fear was as short-lived as his moment of reprieve before he had to care for himself, defending and deflecting spells were he could.

At some point Gellert joined the fight, wand in his left hand and soon Albus had to decide between his conflicting emotions and morals.

He felt anger at being forced into this situation, and rightly could he not decide whether this anger was directed at himself or either his brother for forcing this confrontation or at Gellert, who now that he thought of it had started up all of this.

But then the decision was made. There was nothing to be gained by words alone anymore. Even the most courageous among people only rarely has the courage to face what he already knows; but Albus was a Gryffindor through and through, and so he chose to fight for what he thought might be right. With doleful outcry, he hoped for this to be the right course.

* * *

Had Ariana Dumbledore known that she would die this fateful day in the summer of 1899, not when she lost herself to the heat of the early noon, letting magic overtake her, scorch the house from inside out, burn the grass and make herself feel the delirium of physical exhaustion, but soon after?

She had not. Rarely anyone had such clarity of mind and body to know when Death had come. Much like any person dying young, years before high age could claim them, Ariana too had only surprise on her lips when she felt the eternal embrace hug her close.

As such, Ariana woke from her fit after dreaming of some things, this and that and nothing any man who was not acquitanced with her would recognise as of importance, and still she felt happy for remembering her dream.

Aberforth and Albus Dumbledore would easily have recognised her dream and they would, if it was an especially good day, praise her for her memory, for her creativity, for she would dream of stories their mother had told to all three of them, and she would paint them in more colour than one could possibly imagine.

But this day was not a good day, as had her reaction to Aberforth's wild words of Albus planning to leave proven.

Quite so, such good days were rare ever since Kendra Dumbledore had died. And despite what people, her brothers namely, thought, Ariana was not quite as withdrawn into herself as her demeanor suggested. Not only did she knew that her mother had suffered the ill fate of death because of her lack of control over her magic, she also mostly was aware of what happened around her.

Sure enough, some details eluded Ariana, as if they were of no importance at all. It were the very obvious things, such as what day it was, or if it was perchance raining or if the sun was out; - she missed these things as if they were out of focus or out of range for her perception.

But Ariana nevertheless was quite the clever girl with a sharp mind, too short of an attention span and the talent to worm out a small smile out of anyone she met in person, but, when her magic acted up there was nothing she could do - she lost control and magic did as its volatile nature bade, and as such it was over all very easy to dismiss her peculiar qualities and to only see her as a person who was in need of tender care.

Thus Adriana did not really take note note of the blackened, scorched wood she walked upon with her bare feet, and she did not notice that a soft breeze was breathing through the house because the windows were gone.

Sure enough, it was odd but this feeling of wrongness was quickly forgotten when she noted her hair being in a state of disarray, and she, being the proper girl that she was, set her face into a frown of dedication and quickly she walked to where she knew her combs to be.

Ariana sat herself before the small polished copper mirror her mother had gifted her, and quickly she made to comb her hair.

Idly she wondered what she would have to say to convince Albus not to leave them, but quickly she forgot about these things, as she was reminded that it was necessary to work diligently with her hair; for her blonde hair, so Aberforth had gently explained, was prone to look, feel and behave like dried straw, and thus she'd have to comb it a dozen times over. It was no hardship, as she quite enjoyed how Aberforth had charmed the comb to feel like.

As she sat there, she began to sing one of the few tune Albus' friend Gellert had taught her, and even though it was in a language she didn't understand, she hoped it to be a happy song, " _Maikäfer flieg_ ," and she hummed the tune, simple enough and familiar as it was.

Gellert, she thought, was a nice young man. She understood how Albus might enjoy being around him. He was charming and smart and his accent too was quite endearing. And, so Ariana was convinced, their idea of working towards clearing out the Augean stables of the Magical World was a noble goal. But if it meant that Albus would leave, then she would have a word or few with them.

But these thoughts soon were forgotten when Ariana was done with combing and quickly she made to tidy herself up. She was quite eager to tell her brothers and Gellert of her dream.

Once she was presentable, or at least what she understood and had been taught such to be, Ariana went through the house, the song and her dream's pictures afresh on her mind.

" _Die Mutter ist im Engelland_ ," she sung and with a smile did she remember what Albus' friend had told her ' _Engelland_ ' meant. For you see, Ariana liked the word. And she, with the honest curiosity of a girl not allowed to do anything but be with herself and, when scarce the chance presented, with her brothers too, had asked if ' _Engelland_ ' meant land of angels, and Gellert had indeed confirmed, that Yes, it meant such.

But such indeed was only half the truth, for the song went that ' _Die Mutter ist im Engelland / Und Engelland ist abgebrannt_ ', and that indeed was not quite as beautific as Gellert's sweet voice had Ariana told it as. You see, ' _abgebrannt_ ' was the German word to describe something having burnt down, and ' _Engelland_ ' may as well have referred to England or the fabled land of miracles which often was found in low German legends.

Alas, Adriana knew nothing of the sort and happily continued to sing and hum her tune.

It was quite sad that she only knew this one rhymed stanza, but she was happy with what she had. Ariana was like that with a lot things in life. It was precisely this equable opportunism that allowed her to wake with a smile every now and then, despite the rather worn cards she had been dealt with.

She quickly made it through the house, but then, with a sense of foreboding did she stop just a few steps away from the door that lead to the garden.

This feeling Ariana knew quite well. It often came over her when she came close to the outside world without being accompanied by people she trusted. The feeling, much like a depression would drag her down and increase in intensity with every moment she lingered where people could come upon her.

That was when quite suddenly shouting reached her ears, and with no little shock did she recognise these voices.

Ariana, being a Dumbledore, felt one above all this desideratum, thought it her responsibility, to succour whoever there was shouting, yelling and crying their need out aloud into the world.

She never has had it in herself to avert her eyes from the suffering of other living, breathing beings and here now too, she had no mind to pretend otherwise.

Ariana Dumbledore, with her wit and virtue overcoming the fear that usually kept her isolated in the house, hurried out of the very same.

Her bare feet carried her about the dead grass, its ashlike leafs crumbling to smithereens whithersoever she stepped. Then abruptly she stopped, and her eyes were caught by the scene before her. And not for the first time Ariana cursed upon herself for not being able to use her magic as it behoved a witch of her age to do.

She wrung her hands, she had to do something - anything, to stop this! She would have to undo this Gordian knot somehow. But how?

Every single second felt stretched out into half an eternity as Ariana was forced to watch her brothers fight each other with masks of rage and determination on their faces, and Gellert too, with his sweet voice and soft smile suddenly looked all grim and hardened.

The earth broke open and closed itself, lights flashed left and right, and what was left of the grass changed its shape and nature into a multitude of things only to disappear altogether.

If this was how wizards fought their battles, then Ariana did not want magic at all, she suddenly thought. She hated conflicts, she hated seeing people hurt.

Here now, one after another cuts and bruises appeared whenever Aberforth was not quick enough to escape or counter whatever magic Gellert was throwing at him, and Albus too, so Ariana was forced to see, was enthralled by pugnacity. He conjured and changed anything within his sphere from this to that and he made to undo what reality was to attack and counter both Gellert's and his brother's magicks.

And Ariana? It hurt her to see what was left of her family fighting each other!

She called out, "Aberforth, brother! Please, Aberforth!" She demanded, "Albus, stop this!" And she pleaded with a quiver of fear, "Gellert, please!" But neither of them heard her voice over the whirring sounds of their spells clashing.

Then, quite suddenly her feet moved and she took a few tentative steps forward. Without an ounce of hesitation she gained momentum and she walked through the few visible spells that sailed past her.

Perhaps it was courage that drove her onward, perhaps it was the desperation of a young woman not knowing what else to do or maybe it was simply tunnel vision that made her unable to see the danger she was putting herself in - it rightly didn't matter.

Ariana steered towards the middle of the garden, where in steady motion the three young men moved, apparated and stalked each other.

Without warning a soft yellow light grazed her left arm. She stumbled, walked one more step and then collapsed to her knees.

Panicky fear made Ariana's eyes go wide. Every breath she drew felt empty; - badly frightened she tried to remember how this function that her body had done for her without much need for thinking worked, but no matter how she tried she could not recollect if she was doing something wrong.

She breathed in, breathed out and neither of it felt as she remembered it to be. It was an empty feeling, hard to describe - one that lacked sustenance and she just knew it had to be the spell causing this.

A soft prickle of heat crept up from her chest to her throat, all the way to her head and within a few heartbeats her vision grew slightly darker. A wreath of shadows was layered upon her field of vision and soon all she could see was blurred, out of focus and weird.

Ariana's heart continued to pump her lifeblood just as she continued to breath in, and with it the prickling grew stronger and all too soon it filled her whole body and it's slight warmth turned into a searing heat.

But whatever the spell had done to her, it did not prevent her from call out her brother's names with quavering voice.

Abruptly the fighting stopped. Heads turned towards her, and a few drawn out moments filled with loud heartbeats later Aberforth let out a startled cry, "Ariana!"

His wand dropped to the earth and quickly he rushed to her.

But it was too late, for Ariana was losing the battle against the steady drag of darkness that was pulling at her.

She felt Aberforth pull at her, shake her. She heard him, with frantic voice, call for Albus to do something but her eyes were drawn into the distance where her dear Albus was looking stricken, and there too was Gellert.

Ariana breathed in and out. The darkness crept closer, filling nearly all of her vision, but the tingling, the heat and the stabbing feeling of it suddenly was gone.

Gellert, Ariana saw in her last moment of consciousness, watched her with eyes as cold as snow and as black as the dark of the night, but she cared no more, for now, she had become the  _Maikäfer_ , free to drift whitherso the wind would carry her.

* * *

A few weeks after Ariana Dumbledore's burial, her oldest brother Albus still slept fitfully.

In his dreams he saw the one person he could not blame more than he could blame himself.

Gellert Grindelwald knelt next to him, in his hand he held a gnarly, knobby wand.

Albus should have known this moment. It was a scene from just after sealing their bloody pact. Though this time Gellert was not as flawless looking as the first time. No, all his scars, the proof of his rituals and tainted and forbidden practices were laid bare for Albus to see. And the wand too seemed out of place and wrong.

But the dream went a different direction. It differed from what reality Albus should remember, but alas! As was common with dreams, the person dreaming rarely was aware of their state.

For the longest time they sat in silence, until with a start Gellert began to say, "You saw it in my head! You saw me in my entirety like no one has seen me before. I was laid bare before you, dear Albus. You saw what I intend to do, you saw me act desperate and foolish, you saw memories of me as your lover. You saw me disgraced, turning mad, uprooting trees and turning the waters sour, you saw me burn men alive and destroy towns, tear down houses, drag away children from their families, and you saw me perform all this a hundred times over."

And Albus admitted with a quiet voice,"Yes." For indeed he had seen Gellert in the heavens of depravity. To Albus shame he had seen himself take part of it. They had spoken in orgiastic ways of it, and it had thrilled him. But now? Now the idea had lost its shine, for the results, however compelling still meant death to too many.

Gellert's hand sought out his and despite the feeling of nausea threatening to overcome Albus at the knowledge what Gellert was planning to do, he forced himself to not break away from their physical contact, for if only now would last a moment longer, eternity without Gellert would be a second shorter.

"And you are not willing or able to walk this path with me."

It was no question. And so Albus, without a word shook his head. It was an abrupt motion and it portrayed his conviction quite well.

There was no judgement, no scorn or disappointment on Gellert's face as he lifted his arm and shoved his hand underneath the thin cotton shirt. He pulled out a small chain to which attached was a small crystalline phial filled with red and thick blood.

"At least then you'll always have the memory when you love from afar, chaste and pure as only you can do 'Amiable Albus'," said he with warmth in his voice as he stared at the bloody crystal. He put the phial away and he said with care, "You, a man with his soul covered in scars; and there's I, who still is going to strive with his last ounce of sanity to dream the undreamable dream; and the morrow will be a better world for this. You and I, Albus. You, and I."

Gellert leaned close and Albus, not daring to breath felt the heat of Gellert's breath crawl up his face. He saw Gellert's eyes burn with the fire of his dream, his Utopia, and then, with a charming smile Gellert tipped the knobby wand to his temple and he was gone as if the wild winds of fortune that carried the days into the next morning had taken him onward.

Albus woke with a start.

He took a few second to catch his bearings but then he, with certainty knew that it had been not just a dream and with dread did he realise that Gellert Grindelwald now was the Master of the Elder Wand.

Albus absently touched to where Gellert had touched him and he wondered if this was a foretoken of what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lot - a very old Prussian weight unit. It was very common in the German Realm and usually 1 Lot equals about 15 grams. 
> 
> Maikäfer flieg - A rather famous and very old German lullaby. (Fly away home / lit. translation: Ladybug fly)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, no beta.  
> I have finished the story, and will now take my time editing the remaining chapters.  
> If you enjoyed it, or have questions do leave me some feedback, would you?

There had been no higher object of contemplation to guide Gellert when he had made his first step upon the African continent. He had given himself the mission to see the world, as means to confirm or disprove his personal sentiments - of which he still believed them to be nothing more than the sentiments any properly thinking witch or wizards in the world should share with him, - be eager to respond to even.

His travels quickly led him astray from the cesspool that was Egypt with its rotten mummies of long forgotten sorcerers, with its lowborn people that endured drought, wept at floods, near-died of imported diseases, and with its greedy British occupants.

Gellert had little interest in the bygone era of slave-holders. Their magic, superannuated as it was, had not remained beyond their graves with its simple but effective protections, as such the land and its people did not warrant him to stay for long.

And unlike most travelling muggles, he had seen all the shades of black people's skin could be painted with in the hanseatic towns of the German Realm; not a single moment was spent thinking of the physiognomy of races! What mattered was magic! And of that Egypt had, as mentioned, nothing to offer beyond meagre bones for the British Goblins to chew on.

Quickly Gellert had learnt that in these old lands people too, much like with any sort he had encountered within the German Realm and in Durmstrang too, here were lacking in aesthetic education, and some sense of beauty. -

That is to say: the plebs lived their lives with some almost stoic endurance, without much utterance of their woes or fear of death.

Their late Khedive, so Gellert had learned on his stay, had as was born from their islamic religion, believed to meet slavery and ill-treatment of the poor with disgust was a natural-born, universal feeling to all.

Alas, such was not a commonly shared opinion throughout the most other lands and colonies of the African continent. And indeed such, seeing it with his own eyes, seeing the unquestionable evil of slavery, seeing it not abolished by the arrogant and educated Europeans ruling their colonies, seeing the lack of general happiness in people with their ill fates, seeing the misfortune of being born a black or lesser white in these lands - seeing all this, Gellert, left to his own deliberations saw his sentiments proven beyond doubt.

He would enforce his world of morrow through his blessed proficiency with magic, adroitness of mind, and through the blood of any opposition, if need be!

But Egypt had just the beginning of his travels.

From Anglo Egypt and the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan through French West Africa into the Free State of Congo Gellert's way led him to discover most Central Africa had to offer.

Though, he never saw how the voodoo guardians of the night,- the Zangbetos of the German Protectorate Togoland and the French Protectorate Benin followed him wherever he went in their lands; merely did he feel their presences, their eyes on his back. They crept in the shadows, hid behind huts, walls, trees and in the ditches and trenches of the newly built dirt-roads. They melted into the landscape with their haylike costumes and with their distinctive magicks, and easily enough they could have attacked Gellert, but never, not for a single moment did they approach him.

It seemed the magicals of West Africa were just as wary of white magicals as they were of the white people's presence in their ancestor's lands.

Contact, so it seemed, was not desired, and as such Gellert went further south.

* * *

South Africa; the morning of this particular day began with sunshine, little wind and even less shades to seek refuge under.

With quick strides a young man clad in British uniform walked through the dusty encampment of his garrison. He walked past the fidgety horses, past the rifle pits, and past the small workshops.

He seemed hurried to get out of the unforgiving heat and quickly made it to the small shadow provided by a thin cotton blanket hung between two tents.

He kicked against the boots of his childhood friend and fellow if higher ranked officer and sat down, placing his helmet on the ground.

"Say Lieutenant Chesney, are you awake? Are you listening?" He asked as he opened up his cotton drill frock as far as the casual situation and military regulations allowed.

The tired looking fellow, who, sitting up-right removed his leather coverings and khaki puttees replied not all that quickly, "Yes! Yes, I do listen with what little attention the heat has left me with. What is it again? It's much too hot for your extraneous talking."

With sudden excitement the young officer presented a paperback pamphlet and proclaimed, "Have you not heard? The 'Treatise on Trigonometry' at the hands of William Ernest Johnson has finally been delivered to these godforsaken lands!"

Their white foreign service helmets, covered with khaki cover and puggaree that laid next to the Wheatstone concertina were shoved to the side to pull closer a small table.

As he watched the young officer move, the Lieutenant Chesney spoke up, "This your reason to make me wake? Yesterday you went on about how you regretted that the centesimal division of the quadrant had not been taught to you properly before you were exposed to the hitherto common sexagesimal system, and now this? What are you? A Frenchman?"

The young officer seemed amused as he placed down the pamphlet. He then pulled out a handkerchief and began to wipe away the sweat on his forehead. "If it were to make me any better with my Trigonometry and then in consequence too with my Astronomy,- spiffingly - I would not mind becoming a Frenchman." He smiled briefly upon spotting the look of disdain on the face of his friend. "Cheer up, Lieutenant Chesney. I am obliged to tell you that the Colonel Robert Baden-Powell is on his way! This our encampment mayhaps is to be paid a visit too, then you can finally speak with your idol, or, if God will, dine with him."

"He's coming on a purpose then? Have you heard from where the Colonel is coming?"

"Mafeking."

The Lieutenant Chesney's eyes widened ever so slightly, and quickly he fell into a state of inadvertency. He thought of what it would mean if the Colonel Robert Baden-Powell himself was on his way and he further thought of what it would mean to meet this man. It meant war, clearly, for where the Colonel went, the 13th Hussars followed.

"We are yet two hundred miles farther south. Though, ever so willing, I cannot see how I would dine with the fine Colonel," he finally lamented.

Meanwhile the young officer, unperturbed by the lack of attention of his friend, continued to speak, "That news I spoke of wants confirmation, and I have only heard it in passing; you ought to confirm it tonight with the Captain. Now to return to my treatise: the sexagesimal system as I explained yesterday had become part of the vernacular language of the mathematicians as, due to the history of its usage, was only logical. The French reject this old system in favor of their base of a hundred, considering it as their fundamental unit the quarter of the circumference,-"

Lieutenant Chesney snapped out of his thoughts and cut with an annoyed but not unfriendly tone through the repeat of the day before, "Enough man! It's too hot, I've told you before! Read your treatise and pray let me rest, for at least what little time we have until the drill begins!"

The pamphlet was opened and quickly the young man began to peruse the first few pages. Although he seemed focused on it, he quickly replied with half a mutter, "Yes, I shall. And you can rest if you want of course, but pray remember this then the next time you wish to discuss your sparkish enthusiasm for the cantabile-caballettas and ensembles of Rossini or the verismo of Puccini!" He huffed, turned pages and went on to finish his amused tirade with the words, "Sullivan is the better composer anyways!"

"Second Lieutenant Annesley!" The tone sounded reprimanding but the following audible smile conveyed just the opposite. "You say that because he is British, and to irritate me, don't you? I ought to have you birched." He looked as if he was contemplating just that before he sacked backwards.

The young man grinned openly. "What would you show for a reason for this birching then? Do I like my British musicians too much, - patriotism?" He laughed out. "The King might find objection with that, Lieutenant Chesney!"

"The King and more than half the British populace. I'd be flogged next to you. Now be quiet?"

"Only those who enjoy Elgar, Sullivan, Chamberlain and Maybrick over Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Brahms and all the others, mind you. But have it your way, Lieutenant Chesney, I shall leave you to your sleep."

"God, thank you!"

"You are welcome," said the Second Lieutenant Annesley generously and with a broad grin following behind, though he did not look up from the formulas and words written before him.

The reply to this was some grumbling, then shifting could be heard and then the nasal breathing went slower and slower until with a start it quickened again just as a distant shout rang through the air.

For a brief moment nothing happened.

"Did you hear that?"

In every contest of power, the inferior must yield to the superior or face destruction. In this moment - much like any other in these days, the Lieutenant Napier Elles Chesney was without a doubt well aware of this. He had served for long enough in the King's army to have been met with all kinds of situations.

This awareness though did nothing to prolong his life beyond the few moments of hearing something akin to the explosion of artillery firing.

The supposed rifle pits whence from the sound came were close by, such he immediately knew through experience, and then his head exploded into gore and all of what remained of him splattered onto his younger friend, over the table and the pamphlet on it, the thin cotton for a roof and onto the khaki covered helmets laying on the ground.

Shouting, and the sudden rush of activity followed soon after.

A trumpet was blown, a rataplan of drums rolled, fifers picked up the tune and suddenly war reared its ugly head not for the first time, and most assuredly not for the last time.

The light shade underneath the cover of the cotton blanket disappeared briefly in a flash of pale blue light and then the Second Lieutenant Annesley's eyes went misty.

All the panic from where before he had been thrown into shock, all the tenseness that had his body ramrod left him and he went half-slack where he sat. He blinked once, pulled at his Sam Browne belt until he reached the leather holster, he opened it, pulled out his revolver and aimed it at his temple.

Distantly, as if the words were just a bit too quiet for him to hear properly, the Second Lieutenant was aware that someone nearby spoke with soothing tones.

This, so he thought through the comfortable haze that lay upon his mind, seemed rather odd. But how or why he thought it odd, he could not say. Too important was it that he felt relaxed and happy and all the feelings in between.

Then he thought it a good idea to pull the trigger.

* * *

"The Imperius?" The question was asked with a tone almost too calm, for the very air reeked of paternalistic anger.

Though Gellert did not understand what the matter was about at all; the Imperius, like many other spells was certainly qualified to be called Detestable, maybe even Unforgivable, and yet, when used as it was done within this situation, it seemed justifiable to employ its usage.

"Would it not have been cruel to condemn this young man to walk through his personal hell only to doom him to the searing flames? Just a little spell, - Magic is granting clemency!" The young man said it with conviction and Gellert shared the sentiment, but little did the man he spoke to appreciate these words.

The old man's eyes were furious and with a short and quick jerk-like movement of his head he bade, or rather commanded the young wizard to walk to the table. "Put down your wand!"

Gellert, spotting the pale hand of fate guiding this situation, touched to where he wore his wand within the fabrics of his clothings and cast a spell at the young man.

If he were another person, it might have grieved him to his heart to employ such underhanded methods, to divide family from family, but Gellert was a Grindelwald, and the past summer had steeled him against the weakness of the human mind.

Gellert had acted without considering the emergence of possible consequences, still, it seemed his quick acting was going to pay off.

Instead of thinking that his action might be wrong, instead of casting himself into distress he watched the scene play out.

The young man was grabbed by the stacking swivel and forthwith thrown out of the room. Quickly the old man followed behind. He threw a quick and final glance over his shoulder at Gellert, but then the door was thrown shut and Gellert was alone with himself.

Gellert walked along the wall, keeping his fingers to himself. Suddenly the door opened. Gellert's head snapped around quite before he could stop himself. He saw a black, young head glance into the room, who, upon spotting Gellert hastily retreated.

Gellert shook his mind off the strange encounter, and returned to the task at hand. Once he had done a few steps and felt assured that he had given the old man enough time to encase the room with some spells to protect their conversation, he pulled out his wand and enabled himself to listen in to whatever sounds were close to the young man.

He listened and he nodded to himself upon hearing the young man speak.

A few minutes after the conversation had taken its course the door opened abruptly.

The old man stood there for a few seconds and then, with a quick, and seemingly too hurried motion the door was closed.

He looked at Gellert, stared for a few seconds, then averted his eyes and cast his gaze towards his wingback chair. He cleared his throat almost awkwardly, straightened out his waistcoat and then, with a little less panache in his steps, walked towards where his eyes lingered. His fingers rubbed at his from the gout deformed knuckles.

"My thanks, Grindelwald, for bringing my grandson home," said he with peevish voice as he took seat.

"It was no hardship Warlock Viljoen," Gellert replied sincerely. "I came upon the scene and was compelled to give aid to my brothers."

Quickly the both of them settled into a conversation.

* * *

"'Greater Good', so the mission is then called, when it composes itself to commit butchery! - Nay, I say! You Grindelwald, are offering nothing new or worth dying for!"

Gellert stared with hidden annoyance at the old Warlock, Altus Viljoen. He was a stout man, with pale blue eyes and a spectacular blonde-red beard, and his reputation was just as grand.

Gellert had considerable respect for this Boer, to be sure, and he would rather have him on the right side when sallying forth. - He had expected to be denied, at least at first, but this task of asking the most well-known Warlock of the South Africas to join his Cause had turned out harder than anticipated. - But now? He was losing his patience.

"Don't you want to cast off these platitudes, these petty Statute-besotten Loyalists and magic deniers?" Gellert asked with clear dislike.

The Dorslandtrekker spat into the hearth, revealing a set of red, from chewing areca nut stained teeth. He then replied with a unhappy grunt, "I dislike them well enough." He continued with a bright shine in his pale blue eyes, "And you have my thanks, so I said already, but what you are asking is too much for too little reward! It was hard enough to wean my people off of slavery. Now this? They'd cry murder at me for suggesting it!"

Gellert had to concede this to be the truth from a certain point of view, but there was hope!

The remaining witches and wizards of the Boers had been integrated into the German Realm's colonies almost a decade ago, to which then a handful of Kapitulanten had been sent to keep them in line - this too meant that the Magical Republic of Upingtonia had become just as much of an illusion as was the same fate for its non-magical counterpart, and this exactly meant that there was hope!

"Most of my people seem content enough being ruled by the German Emperor's people," continued Viljoen, "why then should we fight the British and the Prussian Kapitulanten?" He pulled out a small brass tin. He briefly stared at it before popping it open, revealing a heap of chewing tobacco and areca nut mixed with chalk. "See, making enemies left and right in our situation,-" he trailed off. "A reason, Grindelwald! I require you to give me a good reason!"

Gellert leaned back into the hard backrest of his seat as he spoke. He said with carefully chosen tone, "I understand this your situation. And you have my respect for what you do. Though I have to ask: are your people truly this blind to believe the Prince of Prussia being your Schutzpatron in this war?"

After stuffing some of the content of the brass tin into his mouth, the old man grimaced at the taste. He closed his eyes with a tired look hushing over his features and said, "Say your piece and then get out, Grindelwald. I feel myself tire of this."

"You came here, northwestwards, driven by the spirit in your hearts, did you not? You were seeking adventure! A quest on which you could set out to enjoy life, find yourself a goal to work towards to. - It's in all men, I say, and I too am driven by such an spirit, such a quest. I seek Utopia." Gellert said with fervour, but he lamented quickly, "But o'! What a quest it is, - too much for me alone. I need help. I need people willing to stand with their Cause!"

"Like us Boers?" Viljoen asked with a wholly bored and flat tone.

Gellert stood abruptly and walked towards the small round table left of him. He picked up the carafe and poured himself some of the conjured water. "Like any proper witch or wizard; - the Herr Johannes had often told me of times when wizardkind would travel the lands far and wide, of when there was no fear or need to hide, of when such travelers were looked upon with great admiration, of when the betterborn still had their place in this world." He emptied the glass quickly and then added with a tone of finality, "Today, we hide like rats in our too-small sewers, are being herded around by the Pied Piper to the tune of the Statute. Today we are not great. Today we are scattered across the world, and our kind is weak!"

"Weak are we?" Viljoen laughed, which turned into a wet cough splattering bits of red saliva all over the floor. Once the fit had subsided he wiped his mouth clean and stared for a few moments at Gellert before conceding, "Maybe it's the truth. All these petty conflicts over land and people, blood and religion and us looking away, running, - hiding even; but you see it through the eyes of the youth,- hotheaded and eager as you are. One man's weakness is another's virtue and such."

"It's nothing grand, I ask for. Utopia is a big word, laden with expectancy. I merely wish to make a tomorrow in which the Statute is forgotten for its redundancy!" Gellert replied with little heat. "How hiding could be considered a virtue is beyond me."

"Utopia. Violence. And death,– it's a Borromean knot!"

A sharp rap on the door made both their heads turn. A second later a female voice, muffled but with demanding tone called, "Aandete word bedien!"

"Your wife?"

"Granddaughter," Viljoen replied. He spat out his tobacco and vanished it with a lazy wave of his wand. Then he translated, "Supper's being served." He heaved himself out of his worn wingback chair, all the while groaning with pain. Then, with deliberately slow motions, he straightened out the waistcoat he wore. "Tradition would have me invite you to stay and sate your hunger, quench your thirst with us, but I care little for it today. Get out, Grindelwald, and take your fantastic dream with you!"

Gellert accepted this rejection with the grace offered by the mask he wore for a face.

As the old man began to walk to the door he said, "Some advice, Grindelwald, as a show of goodwill for the memories I share with your name. If you are looking to convince people, you need to offer more than just a lousy dream. The 'How', is the distinguishing of spirits! Until you present such you'll be nothing but a boasting boy reaching with his wand into the realm of grown men."

That brought up Gellert half a step short. He ignored the tone with ease, and thought of what the man had said.

Indeed the man was right!

However chary Gellert wished to admit this: the old Warlock was right and he, Gellert himself now saw it too! Sanguine, espoused ideas - visions dreamt of; naturally they meant little if he could not accomplish a proper plan! And for such a plan he needed tools!

Suddenly his personal destiny seemed to call to Gellert.

He glanced to the side, left and then right. There he spotted a small and decidedly high-quality framed picture. It was moving, as was the newest fashion, and it showed the Warlock, younger and far healthier before a counter with a thin and gaunt looking man standing next to him. Behind them, on the wooden surface mounted to a half-rotten Hand of Glory was a knobby wand.

The sound of a throat being cleared made Gellert shift his attention. He looked up to see Viljoen gesturing expectantly to the door.

With a small nod to himself, Gellert walked from where he stood towards the man.

With a polite bow of his head he said, "I do thank you, Warlock Viljoen, for your hospitality and the time you graced me with. No longer shall I impose on you. Please, convey my regards to your family."

And with that Gellert walked past the man, out of the door. As his feet were about to meet the sandy earth the house was stood upon, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder. There again he saw the black boy's head from before glance out of a door.

Deep in thought Gellert disapparated.

* * *

Meanwhile somewhere deep in the German Realm.

A single colourful feather lay before a rather overanxious young girl. Her eyebrows were drawn up in concentration. She swished, she flicked and she muttered the incantation as she knew it to be right, and then:

"It's not working! I just don't have enough magic!"

Her shoulders fell, and a bit of wetness began to creep into her eyes.

"Of course it's not working!" chided Marlene with hints of exasperation bleeding into her tone. "You are doing it all sorts of wrong, silly girl! And that self-reproach of yours is truly dreadful!" She walked over from where she had been slicing and dicing various ingredients for her potions. She pushed the younger girl to the side and made to take the wand from her hands.

"Fräulein Hübsch!" exclaimed Kiebert from where he sat with some newspaper resting in his hands. "Have care how you talk. Fräulein Reiting is just as much a witch and student of mine as you are. Civility, Fräulein Hübsch, is not a tool one chooses to use when only it becomes useful!" He folded the papers and set them down on the table next to him before he stood up. "We are no lesser primates or muggles, growling and clawing at each other for curiosity or need!" He stopped before he could talk himself into a rage and with a small smile he continued, "– Return to your preparations, Fräulein Hübsch! And you, Fräulein Reiting, show me, and I shall see where Stump's pelt is buried."

Marlene Hübsch hurried back to her ingredients. The wish to be of use was still firmly with her, and she by no means wished to disappoint.

"Stump's pelt? What's that mean?" asked the young girl with curious voice, before she hastily added, "Herr Kiebert."

"Ah, yes. Of course the sayings of our culture too, are something required to be taught. How remiss of me," said Kiebert as he walked over to her.

"You see," he continued as he drew his own wand from where he kept it stored, "Peter Stump was a common man. There was not a single drop of magic within him, and yet! He was a good man, - or as good as they came in the day and age he's lived in. Anyhow – look, Fräulein Reiting, watch and observe my movement and repeat it after me as you can. Where was I? – Yes. Peter Stump." Kiebert began to repeat over and over the proper movement for a simple Levitation Charm as he continued to speak. "Stump was, as I said, a common man, who, through circumstances beyond him, was accused of being a werewolf."

"Oh," commented Mechthild Reiting. "They went after people for that?"

"Yes, they did. Human malice is limitless – swish and flick, you have to make the movement in consecutive motion, girl! –" said Kiebert gently. "Now, Stump, he died for it, of course, as was common these days. There was scarce a case when these accusations did not lead to the death of the accused. However, proof yet never was found. It was speculated that indeed, the Stubbe-Peter had buried the pelt he used for his transformations, and consequently the murders of which he was declared guilty."

"But how's the utterance come to be, Herr Kiebert?"

"Your guess would be just as good as mine, Fräulein Hübsch. Perhaps those who originated the locution preferred it over the muggle's 'heart of the matter'? Naturally, perhaps someone simply wished to make people remember this simple man's death."

In silence, Kiebert continued to weave his wand until, after a few more repeats he nodded satisfied with what he saw. "Very good, Fräulein Reiting. Now, do the spell."

Mechthild Reiting did as she was told. She gripped her wand properly as she had been shown on her first lesson and set herself into proper position. A look of utter concentration settled on her young, boyish face.

"Do speak firmly," reminded Kiebert.

He watched her swish and flick and listened closely when she spoke the incantation. He gave a small smile when the feather jerkily rose up into the air. "Take pride in this task well done, Fräulein Reiting. The first spell usually requires the most labour."

Mechthild Reiting turned to face her teacher, one of the first honest smiles in years on her lips.

"Now, a repeat, if you please," requested Kiebert.

Her face fell. "Must I?"

"Certainly," replied Kiebert after having eyed her with raised eyebrows. "How else are you going to become a proper witch, girl? Magic– you are blessed when born with it, of course, that, yet, nonetheless, does not allow you to forgo the sometimes tedious and menial practice required to wield it."

Mechthild Reiting swallowed the groan that threatened to spill from her lips. With a little less elan she went back to practice.

* * *

It was well past midnight when old Warlock Viljoen finally settled onto the hard surface of his bed.

He sat propped up against a dozen of worn pillows at the head of the bed, his wand firmly in hand when he called out, "Neger! Attend me!"

Altus Viljoen's patience ran thin after waiting through barely a moment's silence. The gout's pain was as debilitating as always, around these late hours of the day. He hollered out, "Neger!" Attend me! Or so help me, I'll flay the skin off your soles!"

That got the black boy to hurry. A soft knock on the open door, and then he entered. In his hands the short, adolescent boy carried a salver on which small brown and green bottles and tins stood waiting to be used.

"Hurry!" demanded Viljoen, only to breath a moan of pain as he shifted his limbs.

The black boy quickly nodded his head, and hurried to the nightstand where he placed down the silver tablet. He right away set to prepare all the material he would need.

Viljoen slowly, as if not to make too hasty a movement, waved his wand. Most of his clothings disappeared from his body; they flew up into the air, neatly folding themselves in the process and then were gently lowered down on a taboret alongside the wall.

The wand rolled out of the grip of the old man onto the stiff board for a mattress as he prepared himself for the pain the procedure ahead of him would bring.

The black boy hurried his hands. He first prepared the sinapisms he would have to apply at the end.

"What are you waiting for, neger? Hurry it up!" demanded Viljoen once more, and the black boy, as if afraid he might receive a Flagellation Curse to the backside for wasting time, went rigid for a brief moment before he quickly and with a slight tremble to his movement went to pick up the first of three bottles.

If educating blacks generally weren't being discouraged, the boy would have learned to read and he would have seen the small intricate scribble describing it to be an infusion of the spirit of ants, earth-worms and sal ammoniac mixed together.

It was a common remedy for those suffering from defects of the touch. The gout, a disease as common as the most simple muggle, was yet neither by magicals nor muggles properly curable. Yet rarely magicals suffered from it. As such, the old Viljoen went to great lengths to lessen the pain he was in throughout the day. The treatments with the infusion was only part of it. He too, swallowed the Gout Powder of Portland early every morning. It was a mixture of dried and ground ground-pine, germander and centaury and only the wine he washed it down with made it bearable.

The black boy carefully applied the fluid outwardly to the neck, the hands and fingers and the feet, and the elbows too.

Altus Viljoen groaned with discomfort; if only the magic he knew to reduce pain and swelling was not degenerative!

When the poultices followed, the coldness of the paste of mustard seed powder and water replaced the angry, burning sensation that came with the application of the concoction.

The old Warlock exhaled gustily as he closed his eyes, revelling in the cooling sensation that steadily drained away the swelling and the pain.

"Weaned off of slavery, you said? I am curious how and why this young black boy then is acting as your slavish servitor," spoke a familiar voice from everywhere in the room with mild tone.

Altus Viljoen's eyes snapped open. He cursed himself for being so inattentive, and now with his wand out of reach as the sinapisms hindered his ability to grasp it, he was forced into defencelessness. He had never considered that someone might dare to abuse this situation.

Gellert Grindelwald stepped out of invisibility as he entered the room. His wand moved in a short quick motion directed at the bed. The black boy froze with wide eyes while some materials immediately flew up to cover the ungainly sight of the old man's body.

The cover draped over Viljoen and pressed down tight against him, preventing any movement.

"Honour means nothing to you, does it?" asked Viljoen with venom. When no reaction came as quick as the old man's anger demanded, he chose to do the only thing he could do, he glared at the bastard of a Grindelwald.


End file.
